A Dangerous Energy

by John Whitbourn

  CHAPTER 4

  In which our hero is pondered upon by his new employer.

  That evening Grand Master Baxter dictated a letter to his superior, the Grand Master of London. Ordinarily this responsible job would have been entrusted to Kenneth Hillaire but early on in the evening the pain had grown too onerous and he had drugged himself heavily and departed to his room to seek rest. Accordingly a trusted secretary was detailed to take down Baxter’s words, copy them neatly and finally despatch them in a letter duly sealed with the South-east region’s symbol of anchor and corn-sheaf.

  Although he was a man who used speech sparingly, Grand Master Baxter often grew quite expansive in correspondence where, unable to gauge the recipient’s immediate reaction, he was inclined to labour and repeat points.

  ‘… and so if you will grant me this indulgence in the matter of Father Oakley, I would be very much in your debt. As I have stated it is very much to be desired that I maintain the existing high reputation of the South-eastern region by continuing to recruit senior staff of exceptional talents and wide experience. In this way the present high standard of service to the administrative and governmental echelons in the area will be preserved.

  ‘Furthermore … ’ He paused. ‘Just a moment, Jagger, how much do you think this letter will come to?’

  ‘Just over two pages I would imagine, your Grace,’ replied the secretary whose outline was dimly visible in the shadows of the large room.

  ‘Quite enough – more than enough for that impatient crowd in London. Very well, sign it off with the usual stuff and bring it for signing tomorrow morning. I think that will be all for now, Jagger. Goodnight.’

  The Grand Master was feeling comfortable and relaxed. A large log fire was warming him nicely on the exterior and a glass of brandy was performing the same task on the inside. Having just dined well, he felt that his material needs were fully satisfied for he was a man of simple tastes in matters not affecting the mind.

  His rare trip away from home was not so bad as he had anticipated. A suitably comfortable room had been procured for him at an inn near to the Abbey and away from the Church’s rather … spartan Whitehall Citadel. Doubtless the innkeeper was fleecing poor distracted Hillaire over money, but the food was both ample and pleasing.

  At one point he had been tempted to leave the selection of a new assistant to the relevant Church authorities; however it was such an important appointment (to him) that he had forced himself to make a personal effort. Where better to look, in that case, than at a conference packed to the gills with able magicians?

  Now it was over and the prospect of home was close, he was glad he had come for he felt he had found just the right person and he’d heard some interesting ideas into the bargain. London was awful, however, and the aura of the Archbishop’s authority even worse. In fact now he thought upon it, he had allowed his dislike of his spiritual superior to become too apparent and public today. It was a pity that he and the Archbishop did not get on and yet since the same state of affairs prevailed with most of the other Grand Masters it was not of grand import. In practice, if not in theory, the two men were of almost equal power and authority and so neither could unduly harm the other. Still it was a shame to be on bad terms with anyone unnecessarily and he made a mental note to mention the situation to his confessor.

  He had spent his brief hard childhood beside the sea and now in his old age he had returned to it. He was never entirely happy away from it and this was part of his general homesickness. Another consideration was that in his home region nothing went on in Church circles (and very little in government circles either) that he did not know about and approve of first, and he missed the feeling of security that this gave. There in his great palace beside the beach he directed the affairs of men, developed his magic to a level entirely unsuspected by others and in broad terms felt safe and happy. His rule in his little kingdom, from the River Test in the West to the Straits of Dover in the East, from Wight in the South to the Thames in the North, was a benevolent one he thought. In recruiting this Oakley fellow he hoped the tradition would be continued; if references were anything to go by all should be well. Everyone from Oakley’s Southwark training school through to the Bishops of Llandaff and Reading had spoken of his quiet efficiency. Some baron or other and a couple of decorated Crusaders had testified as to his character. His exceptional ability and brilliant mind were undeniable.

  Yes, all in all, the Grand Master thought his guardian angel had smiled upon him in placing Father Oakley at his disposal and he was sure he had made the right decision. Someone endowed with quiet efficiency was just what he needed as the years began to lie heavy on him and his erudite researches became too time-consuming.

  His mind thus at rest, Grand Master James Baxter drained his glass, said a quick rosary and took himself off to bed.

  CHAPTER 5

  In which our hero’s sleep is disturbed and he revisits a place from his youth.

  Across the river on that cold snowy night, Tobias had taken up residence in a Southwark hotel. He had remembered it from the old days and found it practically unchanged. During the conference he had resided decorously in rooms near the Abbey, provided by the Archbishop; now he need not worry and could follow the dictates of his tastes.

  At about eleven-fifteen p.m. when the Grand Master snuffed out his bedside candle, Tobias was fast asleep. More accurately his repose could be described as a drunken slumber for he was slouched in an upholstered chair, fully clothed and still determinedly clutching a half-empty bottle of whisky. Empty bottles of wine lay about him.

  Nor was he alone in the rather elegant room for he had spent the evening in the company of a young girl who now sat sulkily in the chair facing his while sipping a glass of wine. She was watching the magician intently.

  Linda Partridge was not a regular fixture of the hotel-cum-bordello; she was one of the irregular members of the Bishop of Southwark’s legions, a ‘street lady’ as they were called. Fourteen years old as near as she could reckon, normally she plied and conducted her trade in the streets but on nights such as this it became impossible, so she was particularly pleased to have been picked up by the sorcerer-priest as his partner for the night. It meant a warm room to sleep in, only one customer to please instead of many and, if she was lucky, the chance of breakfast on the morrow. All of which outweighed Linda’s fear of magicians. In any case Linda was a brave girl since, in her time, she had to deal with clients more frightening than this quiet, elderly man.

  Tobias’ selection of this particular girl was in character, for she had almost shoulder-length straight black hair. Another attraction was that at this early stage in her career her face retained elements of childish innocence.

  After impressing her by the quality of his hotel and by the meal he’d bought her quite shamelessly in front of all the other guests, later, in his room, Tobias had taken her in several peculiar ways still only vaguely familiar to her and which she’d found distasteful. Then, with surprising speed and quiet determination, he had drunk himself into unconsciousness.

  Perhaps because her expectations had initially been raised too high, Linda felt a little upset and disappointed. The sorcerer had hardly spoken a word to her other than to issue orders, had used her in a nasty way which hurt her insides and had now passed out on her. Wizards were much like all other men then, piggish and rather disgusting.

  She crouched in the armchair and wondered what to do. How ugly he looked, she thought, his chin was on his chest and his bald pate showed prominently; what hair he had left was arrayed in long and greasy rats-tails. With his powerful eyes closed, his face looked pale and plain and was disfigured by a long scar across his brow. To add to her mounting distaste he began to snore gently. What she had seen of his body had failed to impress either; he was dead-white and running to flab.

  All in all she was beginning to feel pleasantly superior and quite bold. Wizards were nothing to fear after all.

  It was this self-induced confide
nce that gave her the idea of taking Tobias’ purse from his travelling coat and thus vastly increasing her profits for the night. It would serve him right for being so disgusting; he would never find her and besides her family needed the money.

  The deed done, Linda moved quietly towards the door which she knew was not locked and twisted the handle. Or rather she tried to for it would not move at all; she tried again, failed and then pulled on the door with all her might.

  At that instant the room was flooded with a flash of light that even Linda knew to be far from natural. There was a noise like a vast drum being sounded in another world far away and Tobias sat up suddenly, his eyes wide open.

  He extended his arm and pointed at the girl. A tremendous force picked her up and pinned her, feet off the ground, against the still-closed door. The pressure was such that she could not even make a noise but hung, gaping, as if crucified. In a few seconds she thought her body would burst.

  Before then, however, intelligence and wakefulness of a kind returned to Tobias. Recognising his victim, he flicked his finger and then lowered his arm. The girl fell heavily to the floor and lay still, quite breathless. The unnatural light was beginning to fade from the room leaving only the two candles as before.

  Tobias staggered up, went over to the girl and stirred her with a foot. She seemed unharmed and was looking at him through fear-widened eyes. His tastes were now such that he gained a pleasurable frisson from this.

  For no particular reason he went to the window which looked out over the Thames. Swigging from his whisky bottle and looking at the city lights across the river, he suddenly remembered that it was from this very hotel that he had first killed a man … a fat American bosun … twenty-six years ago. What had he become that he could almost forget that?

  Somehow the remembrance had put him in a black mood. Drinking heavily he went to the bed and fell on to it. He saw his black-haired whore get to her knees, still looking at him. From his pillow he regarded her with drunken fatigue.

  ‘I shall deal with you in the morning,’ he slurred, ‘not gently this time either.’ It looked as if he had more to say but at that point a blackout suddenly overtook him.

  Linda looked fearfully at the future Assistant Grand Master of Magic in the South-east and resolved never again to provoke the wrath of wizards. Tobias would have a fully compliant and respectful partner the next morning.

  CHAPTER 6 – 2011 AD

  In which our hero’s new life is described and in which he comes to a decision.

  Tobias found life entirely agreeable at the Grand Master’s lonely palace on the beach at Pevensey Bay. The quiet efficiency discerned in him by successive exploiters of his peculiar talents enabled him to settle in very quickly. After Hillaire’s not unexpected death, Grand Master Baxter was impatient to off-load the routine administration of his realm on to Tobias’ shoulders. Only then could he return to the vast library where he toiled away, day after day, pursuing his own projects.

  Accordingly a very wide range of powers was entrusted to Father Oakley and with very little preparation he found himself responsible for a not unrespectable slice of Christendom. Nor was Baxter’s faith in him misplaced, for Tobias had spent his life preparing for just such a task.

  Elements of the existing apparatus did not entirely please him and he was allowed to sweep them away. Similarly he found certain members of the Grand Master’s staff less than impressive and these he was permitted to replace with men and women of his own selection.

  In short, Tobias had the effect of a new broom and he brushed away with a will. Baxter, by now fully confident of his new Assistant’s ability, retired thankfully to his research and was rarely seen. Tobias, for his part, found it easy to drop into the system once his reforms were fully established and after a year or so worked only in a supervisory capacity.

  Following an initial shaky period when innovation met resistance and a number of enemies were made, the administration of Church thaumaturgy in the South-eastern region was as efficient as it had ever been. The fact did not go entirely unnoticed in certain high circles even though the maintenance of pre-existing high standards was not usually an occasion for praise.

  Once upon a time Tobias would have found complete fulfilment in obtaining and holding such a position. He would have constantly compared its importance in terms of power and status with the lowliness of his beginnings. Now he fretted in the free time his efficiency had created for himself.

  That is not to say he was not pleased with the operation he ran and the fruition of plans that it represented. Indeed at odd times he would linger pensively before a large map of the area entrusted to him and feel a twinge of pleasure at the scope of his influence. Soon, however, the old vacant reverie would creep upon him and he would emerge from it to find anything up to an hour gone with only the vaguest remembrance of it in his mind.

  The truth of the matter was that the South-eastern region was too quiet an area for a man of his type. Upsets or dramas were few and after three years had passed he found he had created a system that functioned so well it rarely really needed him.

  As Assistant to a Grand Master he would normally have been fair game for all sorts of political machinations which would at least have provided some distraction. Unfortunately, his burgeoning reputation and whispered history discouraged his fellow magicians from any such moves.

  Therefore, for the first time since the talent was discovered in him Tobias lacked any identifiable enemies upon which to externalise his inner conflicts. The closest he came to appreciating this state of affairs was to note a growing tendency for introspection which sometimes left him in his ‘nothingness’ and other times shaking with a murderous rage. As a conscious remedy he decided to adopt Grand Master Baxter’s ways and immerse himself in research.

  At the time of making this decision, unusually enough he had no existing project in hand. After studying demonology and self-subjection, his attention had turned to attempts to make himself susceptible to the simpler pleasures: the joys of the table and the bed for instance. When this failed he tried to conjure himself peace, for it now seemed happiness was denied to him. For the first time in his life his hard work, painstaking study and constant application availed him not at all and he had to admit himself defeated by a problem of research. The best result he could show for these several years of work was a kind of self-induced trance deeper than any hitherto taught him which might masquerade as ‘peace’ but which was really little better than his mindless periods of abstraction.

  For once magic had failed him. Alcohol provided only a temporary solace which required steadily increasing doses to achieve the desired effect. Hashish and opium were unobtainable with unjustified effort and the opportunities for sexual expression to suit Tobias’ tastes were few and far between at lonely Pevensey Bay.

  For a long time he pottered around with several minor research problems which kept him occupied even if they added little to his knowledge. Then after nearly seven years of faithful service to the Grand Master, Tobias had an idea which, if successful, would resolve his nagging doubts one way or another for ever. It had come to the point where certain pressing questions had to be resolved or else mere habit was the only reason for carrying on.

  CHAPTER 7

  In which our hero’s new home and its pleasing environs are fully described.

  Grand Master Baxter was a son of the sea and so when, against all expectations, he rose high in the world he invested his new-found wealth in a grand residence in the seaside location of his choice. Such was the traditional right of every Grand Master.

  Previous to his arrival, Pevensey Bay had been inhabited by a few impoverished fishermen whose collected dwellings did not merit the name of village. Aside from this intrusion the coast ran from Hastings to sedate Eastbourne without any sign of man’s presence.

  A little further inland a slightly more cultured community clustered around the ruin of the old Roman shore fort and went by the name of Pevensey village. To say
the least it was not an area which figured often in the affairs of Church or government until, that is, Baxter’s whim began to take shape on the shoreline.

  Looking back, the Grand Master thought the whole thing had been a little overdone: too large for his needs, too fashionable for the region and decidedly too expensive. Still, the extravagance was forgivable for, at the time, he had been rendered slightly lightheaded by the scale of his new-found wealth and position. All in all he was happy with the place despite these cavils.

  He made his home in the west wing – the house was modelled on the then popular classical Roman style with a central block and two protruding wings – and left the rest of his residence for staff and servants to occupy. From one balcony at the front of his wing he had an uninterrupted view over the sea and could behold both tranquillity and chaos. From the balcony at the rear he could view Pevensey village and the Roman castle, and behold reassuring antiquity.

  In the sheltered areas between the two wings he had created an ornate decorative garden, complete with a vastly expensive fountain in which stone sea-serpents cavorted. There, when weather permitted, he would stroll in gentle reflection as a means of relaxation.

  It was a pre-eminently civilised dwelling place even if the surrounding country was apt to be a little sombre out of summer. Surprisingly, for a man no longer of very strong opinions, Tobias liked the place from the start. The crumbling Roman fort in the village; the deserted marshes behind the shoreline; the black timber shacks of the fishermen; the grandly incongruous ‘palace’ of the Grand Master – all appealed to him. He had arrived in February on a day when the sea was stormy and the sky black with rain-clouds. Seeing the huge house outlined against the grey nothingness of the Channel horizon, he was charmed. He was not to know that the scene would be less appealing to him in summer when brassy sunbeams made the area look like one of the sickly watercolours refined young ladies were encouraged to execute. At such times he retreated to the house and had the curtains drawn tight. Fortunately high summer was short in that region and some of the cheerlessness of the nearby scenery that comforted Tobias quickly returned.