*
When he reached the Crescent, he paused to take in the sight.
The sun was just setting and the white stucco front of the line of elegant houses was a soft orange in the light.
Although Sarah had once been in one of these grand houses he had never had the pleasure. This was one aspect of England that did have echoes in the oldest of houses back home — and he loved the history they evoked.
As he reached Quentin’s house, he could see that all the wooden shutters had been drawn.
He guessed Tony had called in a cleaner to tidy the place up, empty trash cans and so on while the estate was being sorted.
A look at the front door. Two impressive locks.
The locks were shiny, well oiled, and the keys worked perfectly. He pushed open the door and stepped in, closing it behind him.
Inside, the house was so dark that he could hardly see. He fumbled for his phone, and was just about to flick it into flashlight mode, when he was hit by a burst of bright, white light from just feet away.
“Who the hell are you?” shouted a man’s voice — and before he had time to steady himself, Jack had been shoved hard in the chest and was falling backwards.
He hit the ground hard — head smacking on the marble floor — and for a few seconds everything went dark.
7. Seeking Doom
Sarah stood by her car, parked just beside the village hall, and waited while her call to James Carlisle rang out.
She wondered if he might have his mobile off, or whether he was out of range, when he finally picked up.
“Yes?”
Did he know who was calling? The potential heirs had to give Tony their mobile numbers so she and Jack could monitor this ‘game’.
But that didn’t mean they had to keep their phones on — or even answer them.
“Mr. Carlisle, Sarah Edwards. I was wondering …”
“Yes? Who?” He sounded stressed.
And for a moment it seemed like the one-time spy didn’t remember who she was.
“Oh! Sarah, was it? Of course. You were at Standish’s office.”
“Yes! Mr. Car—”
“James, please. Don’t make me feel older than I am,” he said with a laugh.
Now, turning on a dime, Carlisle came off as warm, polished … as if each word was measured to put Sarah at her ease.
Something they teach in the spy academy? Or one of the lesser-known courses at Oxford?
“I was wondering how you’re getting on with the puzzle?”
“God — this thing is mad. Got a few solved. Very helpful librarian you have in this little hamlet. But the others — well, I am struggling.”
“Are you working on one now?”
He laughed. “Could say. Well, you might as well come to where I am. Don’t tell the others, of course. I wouldn’t mind all that cash.”
“Great. Where are you?”
He took a breath.
“Little church called St. Paul’s, just outside Cherringham? I’m surrounded by dead people from four hundred years ago and am about to go inside.”
St. Paul’s! Sarah knew the church: small, ancient and falling apart even with local efforts to fund its restoration. Over 800 years old, but despite its history, year by year, no one could rally the money to stop its steady slide into becoming a ruin.
“I know where that is. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“And meanwhile, if I see a wild goose … I’ll grab one for you … because that’s what this is feeling like!”
And with a laugh, James Carlisle ended the call and Sarah hopped into her Rav-4.
*
It was already getting dark as she pulled up at the side of the medieval church and parked behind a smart black BMW. Carlisle’s — she assumed.
She was about to get out of the car when her phone rang.
“Mum — okay if I work on the biology project at Tim’s? His mum says I can stay for dinner.”
Daniel! Sometimes she got so caught up on what she did with Jack, that taking care of her family — whom she loved more than life itself — seemed to slip into auto-pilot.
“Fine love. I’ll pick you up on my way home. And Chloe? Any idea what she’s up to?”
Daniel hesitated.
Her two kids lived, Sarah knew, in different worlds. A teenage girl racing to be a woman as if time simply could not go fast enough, and Daniel, just beginning to enjoy that world opening up to him.
“Um, I don’t know. She’s not here now. Maybe doing something after school?”
“Yes, probably,” Sarah said.
Not at all sure. She’d have to check in later. She trusted Chloe. But still, these days, there were scary opportunities, challenges … and for lack of a better word … temptations.
As a single parent, she had to be on top of things.
“Great, Daniel. See you later.”
“Bye Mum.”
And then Sarah stepped out of her car to go in search of Carlisle.
*
She looked up at the small church, its roof showing where the occasional slate had been blown off by storms and age, and only hastily applied wooden boards kept rain and snow from filling the ancient building.
She saw the centuries-old door, yawning open, with an over-sized metal handle in lieu of a doorknob. To get to it, she had to — indeed — walk through a small graveyard.
Some of the gravestones lay down flat on the ground, joining their owners at rest, spared from kids doing graveyard pranks or the blustery winds that could blow them right over.
She could barely read the names, the dates … all so weathered. But on the few she could make it out … what amazing dates …
Born 1543, died 1572. May angels …
The rest worn away, whatever hope for the angels lost to the sandblasts of time.
Then to another, this one so sad even centuries later.
“Isaac Bell. Born May 2, 1612, died May 3, 1612.
No words on that one.
Because — Sarah imagined — what parent could summon words after such a quick and wrenching loss … angels or no angels?
She went to the splintery wooden door and, though open, she had to give it a great yank to make it wider so she could enter. It gave out a massive creak that she was sure it must have carried like a howl across the nearby empty fields.
And she entered to see Carlisle, notepad out, looking around the interior.
*
“Hello. See you made it past the deceased guardians outside.”
Sarah nodded and smiled, though she didn’t feel that this place suited Carlisle’s humour.
But then she thought … he was a spook. Who knows what — literally — gallows humour he had used to get through days of secrets and sabotage?
“So, making progress?” she asked.
“This damned puzzle. Well, some. Glad we have another day. Think I’ll do some old-fashioned research tonight over a good bottle of port. But this place … between us … I think it has the answer to one of the clues.”
“Care to share?”
She walked closer to him. The floor — she noticed even in the dim light from the bare electric bulbs hanging from the ceiling — was filled with half-erased images, cherubs with one cheek missing, wings minus the angel, bits of words in Latin.
Not her strong suit.
“You won’t tell any of the others, hmm?” he said with a smile.
Sarah raised a hand.
“I swear. Think of me … as an officer of the court.”
“Or at least of the solicitor, eh? Well, anyway, here’s the damned clue …”
He handed her his copy of the crossword, and she could see he had a good number of the crossword’s boxes filled in while others still were empty.
He pointed to one and she read …
“‘In an abandoned village, Paul held the final word of doom.’”
She shook her head. “What on earth does that mean?”
Now Carlisle lau
ghed. “You tell me. But actually …” and he leaned close, as if sharing a secret.
Yes, Sarah thought again — Carlisle’s face inches from hers in this small stone church, surrounded by massive wooden pews that crowded the space –he’s good at working people.
Has me feeling that he’s taking me into his confidence …
“Here’s what I was able to learn …”
*
Carlisle looked around as if, unlikely as it could be, someone might be eavesdropping …
“You see, this church is indeed ancient, rarely used in well over a hundred years. Once Roman Catholic — because that was the only show in town …”
“And then, after Henry — Church of England.”
“Precisely. But with all the murals, images of angels, the Latin … I imagine there was far too much popery for the locals who — while they didn’t tear it down — they did just leave it.”
“Let time and weather do its work.”
“Exactly. But — it was called St. Paul’s. That led me here. And — interesting fact — did you know that there used to be a village right outside? You can see its outlines … the places where cottages stood, lanes … all overgrown. But right there.”
“Ingleton,” said Sarah.
“Ah — I see. Teaching my grandmother …?”
“I went to school in Cherringham,” said Sarah. “And in the summers we used to come up here. Drink cider, play guitars — you know …”
“Aha — midnight tristes, illicit pleasures …?”
“I’m not sure about the pleasures …” she said. “It was pretty innocent, looking back on it.”
She took a few steps, then turned.
Time to get back to the subject in hand, she thought.
“So … the abandoned village?” she prompted him.
“’Fraid the gods of Google and Wiki are a little vague about the history there. Not too many clues as to why the place just … disappeared. Hardly a case of the local industry failing. Illness perhaps? People here lived through at least two plagues. Either way, they left. Fire, storms, and weeds took care of what remained.”
“So the clue brought you here. But what’s this about?”
“Hmm?”
Sarah pointed to the end of the clue …
“You’re guessing this is the reference to St. Paul? That makes sense. But the last bit of the clue—”
“Precisely. I’ve looked around this ruin of a church. Looks like doom has already been here and left.” He smiled at Sarah. “Got any ideas?”
“Well, even if I did—”
“Doesn’t hurt to ask.”
“Right. I was wondering … you worked with Quentin?”
The smile vanished.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Back in the day.”
“For the government?”
“Are we playing twenty questions? Yes again. You have eighteen left.”
“No, just curious. He seemed like such a quiet sort. I mean, my father was a good friend. But he never dropped even a hint that he helped battle the reds during the Cold War days.”
“Now, did I say that’s what we did?”
Interesting, Sarah thought. His use of the word ‘we’.
A slip by the spook, or was that intentionally to throw her off?
“But that would have been when both of you were working for the government. Quite a lot going on, right? Spy versus spy, scandals, scary days.”
Carlisle took some steps, looking around and up as if the conversation was over and he was back to the clue hunt.
But then, as he stepped over more cracked frescos on the floor, past tall pews to where half a pulpit still sat on raised stone.
“Scary? Surely you were just a toddler back then?”
Another smile. But this time, one she could only describe as indulgent.
“Oh yes. I missed it all. The Wall came down when I was a teen. I didn’t really see what the big deal was.”
That made Carlisle stop.
“Oh, you didn’t? Maybe a lot of people didn’t. They didn’t get the sacrifices people made for all those decades. Spy versus spy? Would that it was all so easy, so tidy.”
Suddenly, in this gloomy ancient Church, the space so small, Sarah felt intimidated to be standing with Carlisle.
He didn’t like her talking about this.
And she knew from Jack’s tutelage what that could mean.
There was something there.
She hesitated — should she press on? But with the hours of the competition for Quentin’s money ticking away, she knew there might not be another time.
“So, you came out, went into — what, business, like Quentin?”
Carlisle had reached the end wall, where once there had probably been an old stone altar.
“Took a different path, actually. Did a little consultancy here and there.”
“Consultancy …?”
“Security.”
“I assume we’re not talking shoplifting,” said Sarah.
“Not exactly,” said Carlisle, smiling. “Let’s just say there were certain friendly governments who were keen to take advantage of my skillset.”
“And pay handsomely for it?”
“I make a comfortable living.” He shrugged.
“As comfortable as Quentin?”
“Not quite,” he said.
“So did you see Quentin quite often?”
“Hadn’t seen him for years.”
“Oh really?” said Sarah. “Yet he included you in the game?”
“We were very close once,” said Carlisle. “Shared some … difficult times together. You don’t forget that kind of bond.”
“What about Tricia Guard?”
“What about her?”
“You must have known her too,” said Sarah.
“I knew she and Quent were both playing away.”
“But you didn’t know her?”
“Not really.”
Sarah waited for him to elaborate, but the level stare he gave her clearly indicated he wasn’t prepared to say more. Whatever bond Quentin and Carlisle had formed was going to remain unspoken behind the Official Secrets Act.
And whatever he thought about Tricia Guard was going to remain unsaid behind the Old Pals Act.
Conversation over.
She turned to look at the altar area. Little remained, although she knew the church still held monthly services.
Now there was just the cracked floor, flanked by a faded image of the Virgin Mary with a baby to one side, and on the other, a cracked and pock-marked Jesus extending a hand in blessing.
For a moment — Sarah could almost imagine the services that used to take place here before the Reformation changed this land — and the world — forever.
The incense. The robes. The Latin mass.
And—
Suddenly, she had a thought about where the missing clue might be.
She turned around slowly.
God, it was like an electric jolt going through her. But she kept absolutely quiet.
If this was a competition, then yes — she had to say nothing.
With the image of a mass — the chanting, the pews filled with farmers, landowners, peasants in the side pews — she had a feeling about how ‘doom’ could be found.
Then — sensing Carlisle’s eyes on her — she knew … that he knew as well.
That she had figured out something.
*
Carlisle now looked up, past Sarah, over the jumble of high-backed pews, to an area at the back.
Sarah looked up as well.
To see what looked almost like a small choir loft. But she also saw that it had only a single, over-sized pew, like those for the wealthy on the floor. A waist-high door led to a pair of ornately carved wooden seats with high wooden backs.
Not for a choir … but that ‘pew’ had to be for whichever Lord and Lady had once ruled over this now-vanished village and lands.
But that’s not what caught her eye.
On either side, barely visible, were two paintings.
“Ah,” Carlisle said, now taking a step off the altar area. “You know, if we hadn’t had our little chat, I might have missed those.”
He slid out his phone.
Sarah still looked at the painting, one showing faded angels gathered together, smiling down upon the long-vanished congregation.
The letter of one word in florid italics, the gold leaf flaked and fading.
Caelum.
Then to the right, a darker fresco, the images harder to make out. Save for a glimpse of horns, a pair of hooves, a barely still orange tongue of fire stretching up to the worn rafters of the church.
Another word.
Exitium.
When she looked at Carlisle, she saw him tapping on his phone.
“Okay,” he said. “There we are. ‘Caelum’ is Latin for …”
A look up, a smile. “Heaven.”
Then back to his phone.
More taps.
“And, yes … Of course … ‘Exitium’ means … doom or destruction. And …”
She watched him pull out the crossword puzzle.
“Seven letters that fit … perfectly.”
Carlisle hurried past her.
But he stopped just before turning for the door out of the church.
“You know, I do believe that all those … interesting questions you asked. Maybe — they got me looking around. Might not have spotted that. Either way, the clock is ticking.”
“You’d better hurry then,” she said.
Then Carlisle, the former spy who kept whatever he did very close, raced out of the church, the wooden door again issuing a howling creak, leaving Sarah alone.
One last look around this place of ancient ghosts, and then — just as quickly, she hurried out to her car, wondering how Jack was getting on …
8. Lights On
Jack opened his eyes.
And he saw the guy who had shoved him to the floor, making his head smack hard against the polished marble.
Normally his instinct would be to spring to his feet and, in a matter of seconds, take the guy down.
Even a guy this big.
And he was clearly big, dressed in a puffa jacket that did little to hide his bulky upper torso. His thick neck ran straight up to his head, a shaved bowling ball, his beady eyes locked on Jack.
Cherringham--The Last Puzzle Page 4
