by Daniel Diehl
“So nobody has ever actually seen it, then?”
“Not as far as I’ve ever heard. The Copts used to parade it through the streets of Axum during Holy festivals, but it was always covered. Then, when the Emperor Haile Selassie was overthrown and murdered by a communist junta in the 1970s, they stopped bringing the object out in public. Now, as far as I’m aware, no one knows where it is...if, indeed, anyone ever did.”
“That’s quite a story, Father.”
“It is. But remember, Jason, that’s all it is: Just a story. The Ark of the Covenant disappeared from the pages of history an awfully long time ago and the Urim and Thummim are no more than brief mentions in the oldest part of Jewish folklore. If you want to make a name for yourself in archaeology, keep up the good work with Dr Daniels, here. I'm sure you will find another of those mysterious crystal globes one of these days.”
“Oh, you know about that?” Jason was honestly surprised.
“Carver keeps me up to date on all his bright young stars. Don't go looking for the Ark of the Covenant, or the Holy Grail, or Noah's Ark.” Fr Cunningham stood up, signaling that the interview was at an end, apologizing for being abrupt, but explaining that he was due for services at the Minster.
On their way back to King's Manor, Jason thanked Carver Daniels profusely for his help and for getting him in to see Fr Cunningham on such short notice.
“Not to worry, Mr Carpenter. I just hope to see you back in class before too long.” The words were kind and well meaning, but there was a worried look on the old man's face. Jason was almost certain his professor thought he had gone off the deep end. He would have liked to offer words of encouragement, but with the strange turns his life had taken over the past few months, there was nothing he could say without lying and he had too much respect for Carver Daniels to do that.
“I'll keep in touch, Doctor. I promise.”
“Good. Please do that.”
The sun was already going down when they parted at the high, wrought iron gate surrounding King's Manor and Jason's head was already whirling with the information he had accumulated and he still had two more stops to make before going home. After only a minute’s consideration, he stepped inside a bus shelter, pulled his mobile phone from his coat pocket and dialed the number of his flat.
“Merlin?”
“Yes, Jason. Did you have any luck?”
“More than expected. Could you ring Beverley and could the two of you meet me at the Minster Inn in about…” he glanced at his watch, “…say an hour and a half?”
“Ahh, it must be good news. Are we celebrating?”
“Only partly. I just feel pretty cranked up and need to unwind, if that’s ok?”
“I can call Beverley and as soon as I find her I will make the appropriate arrangements.”
“Great. See you then.”
Merlin rubbed his hands together as he headed toward the bathroom to shower and change into his only modern suit – an old, three piece brown tweed that Jason and Beverley had bought in the hope it would make him look less conspicuous when he went out in public. He didn't know what Jason had to tell him, but while his young protégé had been following his particular trail, Merlin had been busy spying on Morgana. If it hadn't been for the immense danger posed by the woman, he would have been thoroughly enjoying himself.
Chapter Four
While Jason was talking with Carver Daniels and Father John Cunningham, Merlin had been sitting in front of his Venetian crystal scrying glass, intently following Morgana le Fay’s every movement. This was the third consecutive day he had been spying on her and there were two things about which he now had absolutely no doubt. First, Morgana seemed completely unaware that he and Jason were still alive, undoubtedly believing that they had been killed by her pet dragon when it attacked the Buddhist monastery where they had taken shelter. Had she known her old enemy was still alive she would not have been so frantically marshaling her forces and moving forward with whatever plans she was making. Next, and probably as a result of thinking herself finally free of Merlin’s ability to hold the dragon gate closed, she was obviously preparing for some major move toward opening the invisible gate and allowing the Dragon Lords and their minions back to earth where they would be loosed on an unsuspecting population. In her conversation with them her animated movements made it clear that she was excited.
Despite everything he learned while staring into the scarred depths of the old mirror, there was one severe limitation to the scrying glass’ ability; it was incapable of transmitting sound. Like watching a silent movie, or television with the sound turned off, only information which became obvious through the physical action that accompanied it could the images be accurately interpreted.
The fact that the dragons lived by absorbing energy would make them impervious to modern, high-tech weapons and thereby nearly invincible. Every electric plant they destroyed, every bomb sent against them, every fire they set with their searing breath, would only serve to make them stronger. If they had swept across the dark-age world of Merlin’s youth like an unstoppable plague, they would leave the modern world a charred and blackened cinder.
As he waved his hands in the air before the mirror, its surface began to blur and darken, vanquishing the images he had been watching. Merlin was satisfied with what he had learned but he also knew there was much he had missed. With a silent shrug he hung the mirror back on the wall of Jason’s bedroom and wandered off to clean up and get dressed before heading off to meet Jason and Beverley at the pub.
* * *
Morgana le Fay walked casually across the ancient Persian rug that blanketed the oak floor of her library, enjoying the silence. As always, she was impeccably turned out; the color of her expensively tailored suit very nearly matched the intense violet of her eyes and around her shoulders a scarlet silk scarf was held in place by a solid gold Celtic brooch that her mother, Ygrane, had given to her nearly 1,600 years before. The colors of her wardrobe never varied, purple and scarlet, the same colors ascribed to the Whore of Babylon in the biblical book of Revelations. And Morgana’s sartorial color scheme of choice unquestionably displayed her charms to their best effect. Someone once said “if you’ve got it, flaunt it” and Morgana le Fay definitely had it - after more than a millennia-and-a-half she still looked barely thirty-five years old and even at thirty-five she would have been stunning. While clinging to the same colors century after century was probably a silly tradition, Morgana liked tradition; it gave her a sense of continuity and belonging. And today was a day when many old traditions were about to bear fruit.
Crossing the library she scanned the two adjoining walls of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Most of the books were expensively bound in fine leather, the colors of their bindings chosen more for visual affect than because of whatever might have been inside them. It was the kind of room some immensely rich people constructed to impress their guests but this room was different – visitors here were rare in the extreme. Today, however, there would be guests. With a small, wistful sigh acknowledging that the calm of her retreat would be unavoidably broken, Morgana approached the bookcases, running a finger along the spines until it came to a yellow morocco-bound edition of Thomas Malory’s ‘Le Morte D’Arthur’ – ‘The Death of Arthur’. Smiling at the thought of her half-brother’s death, she pulled the top edge of the book toward her and stepped back as the wall of shelves parted and swung silently outward.
The now exposed alcove was flanked by shelves jammed with ancient scrolls and leather-bound volumes of such immense age that their covers were slowly crumbling to dust. At the center of the recess stood a three-foot diameter bronze-colored disk beneath which rested a bank of crystal levers and dials mounted on a brass base engraved with strange, alien symbols. To the right of the crystals sat a modern computer keyboard and it was here that Morgana’s hand strayed. Punching the ‘enter’ key she waited for the reassuring hum indicating that Excalibur Holding Corporation’s computers were back online after they had been d
isrupted by that horrid old man and his insipid little boyfriend. After entering the correct codes and passwords Morgana waited while the polished surface of the disk alternately clouded-over and cleared. Less than a minute later a face came into focus. A pair of long, crocodile-like jaws surrounded a fringe of hideously yellowed teeth; around the lips dozens of tentacles that looked like they had been plucked from a catfish’s mouth twisted suggestively while throwing off tiny electrical sparks. Above the snout sat a pair of gigantic golden eyes with glowing red slit-shaped pupils that stared malignantly at Morgana. The thing raised an ugly, taloned claw that might have come from some gigantic bird of prey and casually began picking its teeth. When it spoke its voice sounded like a blast of escaping steam.
“I am Astaroth the eternal, lord of this realm, and I am called legion for my number is many and my followers infinite. Why do you call upon me, Morcant le Fay? I have given you power, great knowledge, eternal life and all of the things that a small, petty human creature like you could desire and still you fail to grant my one small request. When will you open the gate so that we can claim your earth for our own?” The thing punctuated its last statement by belching out a mountainous fireball that would have consumed an entire house had it not been somewhere far, far away.
Running through Morgana’s mind was: I have you this time, you bloody pompous thing, but the words she spoke were far more temperate. “My great lord Astaroth, your ever humble servant comes to you bearing tidings of great joy. Merlin Emrys ap Morfryn, our ancient enemy who robbed my library so long ago and thus learned how to seal the gate for so many centuries, is dead, killed by the one of your brethren who was trapped on this side when the gate was closed against you so long ago.”
Another gout of flame issued from the thing’s gaping maw but for the first time in centuries the creature’s reptilian jaws almost appeared to be smiling. “It is a good thing to have killed the evil wizard, Morcant le Fay, and the future is now ours to fulfill. When will you open the gate so that we may return to claim that which belongs to us by right of conquest?”
“My lord, I am preparing to move the communicating device to the cave from which your kind emerged into this world, so that I might better facilitate the opening of the gate. Once the machinery is in position I will open the gate and the earth will lay helpless at your feet.”
“Make it soon, Morcant le Fay. Make it soon and your loyal service shall be richly rewarded.”
“Soon, my lord.”
“Go now and make it happen.”
“I promise, my lord Astaroth.”
“And Morcant…”
“My Lord?”
“Should you fail us yet again there will be no place of solace for you in any realm.”
“I understand my lord.”
With the press of a button the disk clouded over before returning to its inert state. Turning her back on the screen, Morgana headed toward the library door muttering under her breath. “Pompous ass. Who the bloody hell does he think he is?”
Ten minutes later she strolled regally out of the elevator connecting her penthouse apartment to her private office in the executive wing of Excalibur Holding Corporation. She could have gone all the way down to the public lobby, or to any one of nine other floors of the building before going to her office, but mixing with the drones and worker bees was a depressingly common experience and she avoided it whenever possible. Today it would be impossible to avoid coming in direct contact with a number of her employees but considering what was at stake it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
Emerging from her office, Morgana snapped her fingers once and waggled an index finger toward her personal assistant Jerry McGuire who, like the rest of her employees, knew her as Mrs Lucrezia – or Lou - Morgan. Jerry was one of only two types of people Morgana employed. First there were the sharks; slimy lawyers, crooked politicians, international terrorists, hired bullies, thugs and fanatics of every known stripe, who ran her more unsavory operations and explained the error of their ways to anyone who stood in Morgana’s way. Second came the drones and toadies – men and women who were over worked, underpaid and far too terrified of losing their jobs (or worse) to ever ask questions or speak out of turn when their venerable boss was within ear shot. Most of them were even too frightened to quit. Jerry McGuire was one of the toadies. Now, scurrying behind Morgana as she charged through the building like an avenging cyclone, Jerry looked distinctly like a small dog that had been kicked in the ribs. As Morgana delighted in telling him; “You don’t have anywhere else to go, Jerry. No other kennel would ever accept you, would they?”
As they passed from wing to wing and floor to floor of the building, Morgana reeled off the people she needed to speak with, never by name but rather just by job title. Names tended to be unimportant when skills and personnel were interchangeable. The only individual who was not interchangeable on today’s list was Peter Haskell, Morgana’s chief engineer and head of Excalibur Holding Corporation’s Research and Development department. By the time they added Peter to the parade there were eight men dressed in neat, white coats scurrying along in Morgana’s wake while Jerry McGuire hurried along beside his boss.
“As I told you on the phone, Peter, we are going to be moving the device from my library to a new location outside the building.”
“That’s the one with the big gold disk and the crystals. Yes, Ma’am, I remember. You wanted me to adapt a portable power source to it.”
“Correct. Have you completed it?”
“We're working on it, Mrs Morgan, but as I explained, this is a really complicated process. It took me months to install that thing...when was it...nine years ago, ten?”
“Almost twelve, Peter.” Morgana was being abnormally cooperative and pleasant. Peter Haskell was the best in his field and the less people who had to know about her personal business the better, so she held her bitter temper in check, talking to him almost as though he were a human being, but the strain of doing so was evidenced by an ever-so-slightly constipated expression on her face.
“Ok, twelve. And we got it to interface with the modern components - eventually - but I never did understand how it really works. The only way to be sure this is going to work with a self-contained power source is to take it apart, move it down to the lab and check everything out there before we move it to where ever it is you want it to go.”
Morgana pulled at her shapely lower lip, tapping one foot silently against the plush carpet in frustration. “Well, I can't afford to have this thing go pear shaped now. You take your time and get it right...but you absolutely have to do your work here. I don’t want anything to leave my library until it’s ready to be moved to its new site…and it only leaves to room after it has been crated up. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma'am. Whatever you say.”
“And I assume you also remember that I told you I want the power source to interface with a satellite relay system.”
“Yes, Ma’am. The portable generator itself isn’t any problem. I found a new one in storage here in the warehouse, and it’s a real monster, so it should be more than big enough to power anything you might need. I’m still working on the satellite up-link but give me a few more days and I should be ready to go.”
“And if I need more power?”
“It depends on how much more power you might need but…umm…do you know how far it might be from wherever you want to set up the disk thing to a mains-grid power source?”
“Not far. Maybe a quarter mile. Why?”
“Well, I think I could tap into the grid without anybody at Thames Power knowing it; and that way you would have access to all the power you wanted without paying for it.”
“I like you, Peter. You give me all the right answers and don’t ask any questions. And just so there isn’t any confusion later, I want all of your best people on this thing twenty-four, seven, until it’s finished, understand?”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
The entourage had reached Morgana
’s private elevator where she unceremoniously dismissed Jerry McGuire and told everyone else to wait exactly five minutes before following her to her private quarters. Flashing a tight, fleeting and obviously phony smile, she stepped into the elevator and ascended to her private realm. Waiting to greet her in the foyer was an elderly man dressed in black trousers and waistcoat. At his throat was a black bow tie; in one hand he held a dust cloth and in the other an aerosol can of furniture polish.
“There will be a group of worker drones coming up in the lift in a few minutes, George. Show them into my library.”
“Of course, Madame. It must be a very special occasion, indeed. Would Madame like tea or coffee brought in?”
“Don’t be stupid, George. I said they were workers.”
“Just as you say, Madame.”
The bookcase was already open when Peter Haskell and his staff of engineers were shown into the library so, ignoring any further hint of civility, Morgana immediately began instructing them in what she wanted done, pointing to the various pieces of ancient and modern equipment, opening closets and cupboards to expose ever more banks of electronic hardware. She told them they were to take whatever time they needed but repeated that each piece of the communicating device was to be crated separately and that it was all to be packed-up here in the library. Nothing was to leave the room until it was wrapped and securely sealed in wooden crates; there was to be no chance that any of it would be seen by anyone except Peter Haskell’s most trusted engineers.
When Peter and his team had adapted the new computerized equipment to the ancient communication device some years earlier, all of them, with the exception of Haskell himself, had inexplicably moved away, left for new jobs or simply disappeared within a few weeks of completing their work. Their families had gone with them and their friends had never heard from them again. This time would be different. With the imminent arrival of the Dragon Lords and their minions it would no longer matter who knew what but there was no sense in taking any chances beforehand.
