The Progeny of Able (The Burrow of London Series Book 1)

by Peter S. Case

  “That is odd,” he said to himself. Given they had spent sunrise to sunset going over the building's history he was surprised that he hadn't noticed these recurring images before. “I wonder why Mr. Haggerty didn't bring it up.”

  His curiosity piqued, he decided to ask him over tea, and sighed thinking the question was likely to inspire anything but a succinct answer.

  What had started out as a faint mist was audaciously turning into a fat pelting of rain with the wind beginning to shake the lead windows. Hoisting himself onto a thick iron heating pipe running along the floor at the wall he gazed out the window at the water already beginning to rush out of the gargoyles. These granite fixtures were also fashioned as foxes complete with open jaws and tongues lolling out of their fronts.

  “A pinch of milk and no sugar?” He heard called from the back. Rolling his eyes and wondering how many times he would need to answer this question he responded. “That is correct, thank you!”

  Settling back into the front pew as he gazed at the altar, a tray of tea appeared behind it, followed by the hobbling old man. With a shift of his focus he could make out a faint but elegant dance of foxes swirling around the supporting stone pillars of the altar.

  There was a slight shake and jingling of cups and saucers as Revered Haggerty carefully descended the altar steps, setting the tray on the pew and settling in next to Edward.

  “There is no greater reward than a cuppa after a morning of mucking around in the garden, wouldn't you say? Now the biscuits are getting a bit tender so give them a dunk to make them a bit more palatable.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments enjoying the methodical rhythm of the wind and rain, Edward getting slightly annoyed by the bits of stale biscuit breaking off and swirling around his tea. Somehow the Reverend Haggerty managed to drift off to sleep while still holding and without spilling his cup of tea. A flash of lighting sparked the windows followed by a dramatic boom which shook the Reverend out of his slumber.

  “I'd say it looks like we'll be in for the rest of the afternoon,” mumbled the old man.

  “Yes...at some stage I should put some more time in to preparing for my big day tomorrow,” Edward said referring to his first mass at St. Blaise's.

  “That you should my dear boy, that you should,” Haggerty replied smiling with his eyes beginning to close again.

  In an attempt to keep the old man awake and not delaying the day any longer Edward spoke, a little too loudly. “I just noticed there is a recurring theme of foxes around the building. Is this of some significance or was it just the whim of the original architects and artisans?”

  Looking Edward directly in the face, the old man shook his head, gave a great sigh of relief and rolled his shoulders in a relaxed and jovial heave. He leaned in to the younger vicar before he spoke. “I have to confess, Edward, that I was beginning to lose hope that you would ever ask that question. I took you on the most detailed tour I have ever given of this building in the fifty years I have been here and it still took you nearly a week to notice! Well, thank the Almighty you got there eventually. Now, never mind. Have you finished your tea? Let's do this last bit of business shall we and perhaps I can actually begin my retirement?”

  Edward looked stunned then stuttered, “Um...yes.”

  “Good. Leave the tea and follow me.”

  Hopping to his feet, the old man started off at a surprisingly vigorous wobble. Crouching behind the altar he began fiddling with a combination lock set into a trap door on the floor.

  “Here, give me a hand,” he said, placing the lock beside him on the floor. “It's heavy so give it a good pull. I oil the hinges at least once a month, so it should work.”

  Kneeling down and grasping the large metal ring Edward gave a grunt as he pulled the door open revealing a fairly wide set of stone steps leading into the darkness below.

  “Here is a torch. You go first so if I trip you can catch me.”

  “All right,” Edward stammered, still confused by the abrupt change of events.

  He could see a faint light coming from below and took the torch. “Here, take my shoulder,” he said as he began to descend. “The steps are a bit damp so we'll take it slow. Is this some sort of crypt? I wasn't aware of any relics at the church.”

  “Yes, this first room is where the first Parish priest is buried. It is far older than the rest of the building. However, we are just passing through this room to another which is even older than the crypt.”

  Edward gazed below, intrigued and feeling that slight flutter of excitement one gets at the discovery of something unexpected.

  “There is a switch on the wall to the left of the stairs. Be careful you don't knock over the oil lamp and matches on the shelf above.”

  Going step by step the air lost a few degrees and Edward gave a sneeze as the temperature changed.

  “Sorry. I have a sensitive nose,” he sniffled.

  “Bless you, my child. You know I was on the verge of needing to come up with some sort of excuse for the bishop as to why you weren't right for this particular congregation. A fairly difficult situation as you are actually quite qualified for the job. You see, unfortunately, I couldn't prompt you to ask about the foxes. You had to discover them on your own. I suppose you could call it a test, but it is really just a tradition.” Giving a slight smirk he added, “It only took me about twenty minutes before I asked my predecessor the question, however.”

  “Well, I'm sorry Mr. Haggerty, but this is all a bit unusual and I have to say I rather had other things on my mind.”

  “Oh yes, I know. I know that hard focus of yours,” he responded with a sarcastic smile.

  Reaching around the wall, Edward felt the shelf and the old toggle switch below. He flicked on the light hoping he wouldn't get a shock from the ancient electrics at the same time. A bright bulb came on revealing a large square room with a jungle of objects spread about the floor.

  “Sorry about the mess but space is at a premium in London and not even we are immune. Sadly this sacred space has needed to double as over-flow storage.”

  On the far side were a few windows set slightly below the level of the earth which allowed the small amount of natural sunlight to filter in. The stone walls had been cemented at some stage and were streaked with a rising damp. A layer of dust covered a row of old oak pews several of which sat on the floor with broken legs. A pile of hymnals rose from a crate next to a podium with several stacks of broken stained glass windows leaning against it. The rest of the space was crammed with neatly labelled cardboard boxes reaching to the ceiling in places.

  “We have all of Christmas and all of Easter down here.”

  The dust forced Edward to release an additional series of sneezes, causing his glasses to slip to the end of his nose. Once he recovered and looked up, he saw a clearing amongst the chaos in the centre of the far wall on which what looked like a large paw print was carved.

  “Take the matches, the oil lamp as well as the cannister of spare oil on the floor, but leave the torch behind. We need to make our way over to that open area,” he said, waving his arms towards the wall.

  Edward needed to hoist a few boxes out of the way but gradually they managed to reach a narrow but long sarcophagus that had been hiding below the disorderliness positioned under the paw print. On top was the form of a priest in robes, his face turned to the right, facing an oversized fox lying on its back, clothed in a similar robe and returning his granite gaze. The monk clutched a stone key to his breast while the fox wore a brass diadem set with several parallel wavy lines of blue quartz.

  “Ah,” Edward exclaimed triumphantly, “I've got it! The priest had a pet fox which he asked to have buried by his side with a matching effigy. Of course this being such an unusual sight, it has inspired the image of the fox around the rest of the building over the centuries of refurbishment.”

  “Good guess, Edward, good guess,” the old man giggled. “That could very well be the case. Look at this stone priest, he seems to
have your handsome nose, does he not? Now do you see that flagstone at the base of the sarcophagus?”

  “Yes...,” Edward answered warily to both questions giving his prominent aquiline nose a self-conscious rub.

  “Good. Its not fixed so go ahead and lift in out. Here is a crow bar to get you going,” Reverend Haggerty said as he offered a metal bar which needed to be slid out from between the two reclining figures.

  Prodding the stone with his foot he could feel a slight wobble under his weight. Drawing out the bar he seated it in a purposely carved gap and wrenched the stone up from the floor.

  “This hasn't been opened since I was concerned about some possible flooding nearly a decade ago. Lifting out that stone threw out my back for nearly a year. I had to tell everyone I did it while working in the garden, so be careful and bend at the knees, not from the waist.”

  Kneeling, he reached under the stone, grunting in dismay as he shifted it to the side covering his new trousers and shirt with a mixture of dust and dirt. A great stale wind greeted his nose as he swung the stone to the floor. He had no doubt it hadn't been opened in a decade and wondered if it might have been much longer.

  A spiral staircase spun into the darkness from the square hole causing Edward to ponder it dizzily.

  “Light the lamp and hand it to me. I'll lead the way this time.”

  Fashioned from bronze the lamp had the appearance of a small teapot with a sweeping curved handle. A bright white wick protruded from the nozzle and a small glazed porthole in the lamp's body showed the bowl was half full of oil. Striking a match, the wick caught quickly creating a neat yellow flame. Taking it from Edward as he passed, Reverend Haggerty began to twist into the darkness below and disappeared, leaving only a weak light from the lamp trailing behind.

  Perched above and finding himself alone Edward hesitated, wringing his hands slightly while pondering the unusual circumstances.

  “Please keep up, Mr. Leeps. We really haven't got all day!”

  “Sorry. I'm just, well it's just that I have a bit of claustrophobia that's all.”

  “Oh, come on, this passage has been here for at least two thousand years. I don't think its going to come down on us today.”

  Taking a deep breath and saying a quick prayer, he started his descent, catching up with the small bit of light struggling to keep the void at bay.

  After a dozen or so steps they came upon an additional lamp hanging from the side of the central pillar, a feature that was repeated at regular intervals as they descended. Edward filled each lamp with a small amount of oil while Father Haggerty lit each with his lamp. A warm glow began to gather along the smooth stone walls and Edward started to notice how precisely the construction of the stairs had been achieved. For something this old the passage was remarkably clean and the walls incredibly smooth. Made from a honey coloured marble, Edward guessed the lack of use had saved the structure from many years of wear and tear. It looked as though it had only recently been constructed.

  He began to lose track of the number of steps after he reached around one hundred and fifty, his mind becoming more concerned with how Father Haggerty was ever going to ascend so many steps when they wanted to leave. He was on the verge of commenting on this situation when the steps ended and they were finally released into a wide corridor at the end of which he could faintly make out an opening to a room with a fox shaped font at its centre. As they moved along the corridor, the faint light revealed that the bowl of the font was silver and held within the upturned jaw of a fox dancing on a rounded granite base.

  A few more lamps were lit, including one hanging above the font, which Edward struggled to reach, fill, and light without tipping over the delicate bowl. On the far side of the room, behind the font from the entrance, was a silver door. Set in the wall three feet from the floor it had a keyhole on its left side and the head of a fox had been crafted with a hammer into its centre.

  Trying to brush himself off he coughed through his excitement. “This is amazing, we must be at least two hundred feet below the church.” Actually not so amazing, he thought, imagining the thousands of tons of rock and mud pressing down from above.

  “With the lamps lit it really is a beautiful place,” the old man said, his eyes glittering in the lamplight. “When I was younger and could move the rock with ease I would come down here at least once a week. This place fascinated me as I'm sure it will you especially given the mystery and absolute secrecy which surrounds it.”

  “Why, though, I don't understand. This must be unique in all of Britain if not the entire world. Why would a feature such as this be kept a secret?”

  “To be honest, I don't know, but I do know the oath I was made to take and for whatever reason you need to take it now.” The Vicar turned from his admiration to face Edward. “I'll be needing a bit of your blood.”

  “Excuse me?” Edward gasped staggering back as he looked at the old man holding a short but brightly polished dagger towards him.

  “Now just listen to me for a moment. Firstly, calm down. I'm not going to stab you,” Haggerty said quickly, with an uncomfortable look. “I've been debating whether or not to go through this ever since I decided to retire. The previous pastor took me on this little voyage before I started working here and I had the same reaction as you at first. In fact I hit that cantankerous pastor on the side of the head before he convinced me. But afterwards it created in me a sense of absolute peace and dedicated me to the parish in a way I never thought possible. There was something divine that happened to me that day. You may not want to hear this but it made me never want to leave this parish. Fifty years here and it continues to give me complete satisfaction with my life and what I've managed to accomplish.”

  “But what is this about? You've shown me this beautiful crypt. Why would you need my blood? What could that possibly accomplish?”

  “It is an oath, Edward. I was told it was a sort of oath of office unique to your position here. Fifty years ago I was given very little information, but was asked to commit to this oath and did so, eventually, with sincerity. Given how long I have been here I have had plenty of time to contemplate this oath and this ritual and I believe the foxes are a metaphor for the congregation you are here to protect. You are to defend them from the ills of the world and to keep them in the grace of divine light. You are a good person, Edward, and I have come to learn that there is no one else I would trust to take my place. Of course, you have to make this oath entirely of your own free will.”

  Edward thought for a moment then sighed won over by the sincere look in the old man's eyes. “Okay. Is the knife clean at least?”

  “Of course! I disinfected it while I was making the tea. Besides, we don't need to fill the bowl.” he laughed. “Just a little cut and a drop will do.”

  Taking the remaining oil, the reverend poured it into the bowl which Edward could now see had an old cork plugging a hole in its base. A metal chain attached to this cork hung over the side of the bowl dangling in the air.

  Seeming to recall the words as if they had been said to him yesterday, the old man began.

  “Father Leeps, this Oath has been taken by every Priest to serve at the church of St. Blaise since it was founded. The Oath predates the building above and is infused in the very foundations of the stone. Your very soul is the guarantor that you will keep this oath. Please kneel at the font.”

  Looking again, at the sincerity on the wrinkled face, Edward gently set his knees down on the granite step facing the bowl.

  “You must make the cut yourself. This is a symbol of the free and willing choice you are consciously making when you make this oath,” he said, as he handed over the knife.

  The blade was made of silver and reflected the light the same way as the bowl. The guard was shaped in the open jaws of a fox and the pommel set with a large dark blue stone. He tested his thumb on the edge of the blade and could tell from the friction that the blade was extremely sharp.

  “For many centuries oil has been
used to anoint the head of kings. With this in mind present your blood to the bowl and repeat after me. I, Edward Leeps, with my blood as my witness, do swear to protect the progeny of Able, to be a knight from above serving the lives far below, to harbour my Oath with a divine heart, to keep this role secret from all others save he who replaces me and to take on this Office and its duties as the Defender of the Foxes.”

  Starting hesitantly he repeated the oath word for word but surprisingly, by the end, he was articulating with absolute conviction. He could feel a graceful burden being placed upon his shoulders like a regal shroud. Edward then looked resolutely to Haggerty who nodded his head indicating it was time to make the cut. Wincing, Edward drew the blade along his thumb but felt no pain. A droplet of blood quickly formed and sagged towards the oil. He held the blade by his side waiting for the blood to build and fall. As he did this, Haggerty took a match and struck it above the font. Finally the blood fell into the oil creating a billowing red streak as it descended to the bottom bowl. With a flick, the old man threw the lit match into the oil causing the bowl to burst into flames and Edward to hold his head back from the heat. While the flame rose to nearly the height of the lamp above Haggerty, pulled at a the thin chain around his neck, lifted it over his head revealing the half fragment of a key, the base of which was shaped into the half-head of a fox.

  “Take this key and wear it always. It is the symbol of your oath and the promise that you have made. It is half a key. You must wait for the other half to present itself for this will be the progeny whom you have sworn to protect.”

  With that the old man pulled the chain attached to the drain plug within the font and as the oil drained away the residual flame illuminated Edward alone, key in hand, the old man already silently disappearing up the stairs.