by James Erith
‘Why don’t you try,’ Isabella began softly ‘by telling us everything that you do know? Perhaps it will make things easier.’ She exchanged nervous glances with the others.
‘Hmmm … yes,’ the old man sniffed. ‘Good idea.’
He lifted his head and stared deeply into the eyes of each one of the children in turn. ‘As you may have worked out by now, I am not who … who … er … who you think I am.’
‘Then, who are you?’ Daisy squeaked.
‘Goodness me,’ Old Man Wood replied. ‘It’s almost impossible for you to understand, my littluns. And it’s going to sound a bit barmy – well, utterly appley barmy, so you must promise you won’t be afraid.’
The children nodded.
‘Good, right,’ he said, picking himself up off the stairs. ‘I’ll tell you what I can remember – and fast – for if I’m not mistaken, the sands of time are already moving against us and have been for far too long. Now, you know that bible story you read, Isabella, the one about creation and all that?’ the old man began.
She nodded.
‘Well it’s got a little to do with all that – and more. Goes back before – a long time before. Oh dear.’
‘Go on,’ Isabella said.
‘There’s a whole history, lost and forgotten … until now. It was my role, I think, to help out when the time came.’ He began sobbing again.
The children guided him to his armchair, where he sat slumped in a sad heap with his head in his hands and tears rolling down his cheeks.
‘And this history is related to the flooding and the plague isn’t it?’ Daisy asked.
This was met with more groaning. ‘Apples, yes!’
‘And we’re the link, aren’t we?’
Old Man Wood turned his wrinkled face and bloodshot eyes to them. ‘Oh yes. Yes indeed, my littluns. You three, my favourites, are the key to the whole appley thing.’
SEVENTY-NINE
STAINED GLASS WINDOWS
Headmaster Solomon pulled another heavy, leather-bound book from the library shelves. From Latin the book translated as “Stained Glass in the Churches of Northern England”.
He carried it to the desk where it thudded down. He pushed his glasses up his nose and flicked through plates of stunning, intricate drawings page after page. Finally, he came to the end where he found one last entry:
Upsall Church, Date: Medieval. Designer: unknown. Fabricator: Local.
He read the description, translating the Latin out loud as best he could:
‘This is an unusual triptych, in the medieval style with adaptations of ancient symbolism, possibly pagan. It is recognised for the strong use of natural elements in its design and of curious, detailed, seated figures. One figure is similar to that of Christ, with hands showing holes from the cross, another holds a mace above his head and the third bears eyes like fire. Embracing all three is a large, disjointed emblem of the Tree of Life. Below each figure, smaller scenes tell of an apocalypse, namely flooding, disease and famine.
‘Positioned in the laps of the figures are three books, or stones, each one bearing a repeated motif of the Tree of Life. Above, angels feed the figures from the clouds.’
Solomon’s heart nearly stopped.
He stared at the old images of flooding and disease. Wasn’t that uncanny? And three of them were being fed. But fed what exactly?
Frankly, he thought, they were pretty rotten images, as if drawn from memory by someone not in the least bit interested. He needed to get in there and see it for himself. Drat. It meant he’d have to get wet.
Solomon closed the book, rummaged around the lost property for several minutes until he located a mask that he’d found at the beginning of last term, and made his way down the stairs until he reached the foul-smelling water that licked the walls and stairs.
He removed his clothes, bar his underpants and vest, adjusted the mask on his head to its maximum setting, took a deep breath, and lowered himself into the water. He swam easily on the flat surface, the noise of splashing reverberating off the vaulted ceiling in touching distance above him. At the end of the colonnade, he ducked and dived under the door arch and into the aisle of the chapel. On surfacing, he kicked off to the side and hoisted himself up onto a stone ledge.
From here he had no choice but to climb up over the stone screen that separated the aisle from the nave. He spied an opening above which he reckoned he could crawl into. But halfway through, Solomon realised this gallant approach was a tactic for a younger man. He tried to pull himself back but remained wedged. There was no alternative but to go headfirst and pray the water depth in the church was the same as in the colonnade.
He puffed out his cheeks, wiggled his bottom, wobbled his belly and slipped forward.
A moment later, with a cry, Solomon plunged through the air, belly-flopping into the water below.
‘SIR,’ came a voice from the doorway. ‘I think you’d better take a look at this.’
Stone looked up to see Dickinson walking towards him.
‘What is it?’ he snapped.
‘Your headmaster friend, sir … I can bring the feed in here if you wish.’
Stone ushered him in. ‘It’d better be worth it.’
‘You won’t be disappointed.’ A smile crossed the officer’s face.
Stone stared at the screen, trying to work out where he was. A church? High up by a window?
Dickinson filled him in. ‘So he’s climbed the wall and looks as if he’s going through the window.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s been flicking through a load of old books on stained glass windows. I’m not sure he’s found what he wants. Knows his Latin, though.’
‘Of course he does. He’s a ruddy teacher—’
Suddenly, the image moved fast and filled with water. For a minute all they could make out were dark stains and a flurry of watery activity.
Dickinson could hardly suppress his laughter.
‘Is the feed—’
‘Yes, watertight, sir. Not sure about the mike.’
Solomon swam over to the side and found a jutting beam which he climbed on. He looked around. In front of him was the apex of the tall stained glass windows, the light splaying over him.
From the office, the two men followed his eyes. ‘There,’ Dickinson said. ‘It’s those windows he’s after.’
And as Solomon stared at the top of the ancient glass pictures, trying to deduce their meaning, so too did Stone. Then, without hesitating, he took a deep breath and plunged into the cold water.
SOLOMON STARED through his mask in disbelief. The deluge had cleaned the panes! These weren’t the grimy windows he’d seen in the book, nor the ones he’d seen every day for years, but vibrant, shining, coloured glass – bursting with life – especially with morning light beaming through them.
He surfaced, pulled himself onto the beam, removed his glasses, folded them and tucked them under the elastic of his pants. He rubbed his eyes.
While submerged, laid out like a comic, the window had told a story: three people, a flood, a plague, and even the old de Lowe castle, now a ruin. Common factors. Perhaps the three figures were ancestors of the three de Lowe children? But who, he thought, were the curious angelic creatures sitting above them, giving them a substance that looked like dust? It reminded him of Isabella’s dream about the storm. A premonition perhaps?
Solomon reached for his mask, fixed it over his face and dropped in again. This time, as the outdoor light brightened, it illuminated the window further. Solomon gasped. Another layer of detail shone through.
Solomon stayed down as long as his lungs would let him before surfacing. On the beam, he reached for his glasses. ‘So these are gifts, and here are challenges or, it appears … the world … fails,’ he said out loud between shivers. ‘Curious. And, unless I’m very much mistaken, lying at the foot is a long, snake-like beast with a dragon’s head.’ He wiped his forehead. Could this be part of the de Lowe myth that one of their ancestors had slain
a dragon ... or something else?
He remembered the notches – seven. ‘Seven days? Seven days of creation. Seven days of de-creation.’ He stiffened at the thought. Was it a coincidence? After all, the nucleus of the storm and plague began right here.
In his bones he knew that for some strange reason this terrible event centred around the de Lowe children and that this window was somehow linked directly to those kids and a very ancient story.
TEMPORARILY, they lost Solomon, and then, just as Stone thought about giving up, the image came back, this time sharp and clear.
The microphone picked up every word.
Stone listened and looked. Then he leant back in his chair with his arms behind his head. ‘You know, Dickinson,’ he said as he stared out of the window. ‘This is the only thing we have, the only damn thing we’ve managed to trawl up: an old stained glass window with some hocus-pocus images and a mad old headmaster banging on about the creation story.’
Stone stood up and grabbed his jacket. ‘You know what? I need to see that boy again. The boy who calls himself Kemp. I need to find out what he really knows about young Archie de Lowe.’
KEMP STARED AT THE CEILING, bored. His recovery was speedy and now that his drips had been taken away he could move about, but to where? And why, oh why, did he tell that weasly man about Archie? What would happen to his friend if they found him? Would he too be paraded in front of the TV cameras, subjected to interviews, get put on drips and given endless blood tests?
Kemp rolled his legs off the bed. ‘I need the toilet,’ he yelled through the glass. ‘And not in the piss pot.’
The nurse came through. ‘You’re feeling perkier, young man,’ she said.
‘Yeah. I certainly am. Any chance I can stretch my legs?’
The pretty nurse smiled and shuffled out. She rang a number, talked for less than a minute and returned. ‘There’s a toilet just around the corner. Why don’t you pop along there? I’m sure no one will mind.’
As he walked slowly along the corridor, Kemp noted guards at every door. Were they all for him? Was he seen as a threat?
He found the toilet and opened the door. It was a large cubicle with a loo, basin, mirror and shower. He locked the door and stared at his reflection.
‘Boy,’ came a soft voice.
Kemp froze. It couldn’t be.
‘Take off your gown, so you can see me.’
Kemp removed his dressing gown and let it fall to the floor. But before it hit the ground, it was scooped up.
‘Cain!’ Kemp snarled. ‘What are you doing here?’
The ghost put it on. ‘I wanted to apologise,’ Cain said, his voice just above a whisper.
‘Too bloody right. Now get out—’
‘In my excitement, I cared for you poorly. Despicably. But I realised my mistake just in time and managed to save you.’
‘So why are you back?’ Kemp whispered.
‘Because I want you and I need you,’ Cain implored, his voice silky.
Kemp guffawed. ‘Why do you think I would ever go back to you after the way you treated me?’
‘Because I made a terrible error.’
Kemp sat down on the loo seat. ‘That’s not enough.’
‘Because, together, we can be powerful.’
‘Still no! No way!’
‘Because I will give you food and water. I will let you sleep. Because I know we can do this together.’
‘NO!’ Kemp hissed. ‘Piss off!’
Cain sighed. ‘Then you will remain here as a medical phenomenon, getting poked and prodded and having things pushed into you. And, eventually, you too will get the disease. Everyone will. And you will suffer a horrible, painful death—’
‘It’d be better than living in you, in your hell.’
Their conversation was interrupted. ‘Is everything alright in there?’ a voice called out from the corridor.
‘Yeah, got a bit of constipation,’ Kemp replied, thinking quickly. ‘I’m going to have a quick shower in a mo. I won’t be long.’
‘Jolly good. Shout if you need a hand. If you’re really struggling, pull the emergency cord.’
Cain tried again. He had one last card. ‘Join me, boy. This time it will be different. I swear it. I have made arrangements—’
‘Yeah, right. You said that before.’
‘This time, I swear it … on your mother’s life.’
‘My mother’s life?’
‘Yes,’ Cain said slowly. ‘Your mother lives. I have found her.’
‘It can’t be true,’ Kemp squealed. ‘How?’
‘It’s a long story, boy,’ Cain said, sensing his moment. ‘But every single word is true. Come with me and together we will see to it that she lives with you for the rest of your life.’
Kemp put his hands over his bald head. There was nothing, nothing he wanted more in the world. The revelation left him lost for words.
‘You need to come with me now,’ Cain urged. ‘I will not fail you. You know what to do. Put on the robe.’
Cain hovered to the door and plucked a see-through bath cap from a shelf. He put it on. ‘Do it just as you did before the storm.’
Kemp switched on the shower and removed his nightshirt. ‘My mother, huh?’
‘You have a few seconds to decide.’
Kemp moved under the cold water. When he was fully drenched, he stepped out, shivering.
‘Have you made your choice?’
‘Yes.’ Kemp said and he grinned through his shivers. ‘But this time, cold water will ease the pain.’
STONE MARCHED into the sealed-off compound and went through the usual procedures of sanitation.
‘He’s having a shower,’ the nurse said, smiling at him. ‘He’s feeling an awful lot better.’
‘Excellent,’ Stone replied.
The nurse nervously examined her watch. ‘He’s been in there a little while. I’ll hurry him along.’
Several minutes later, she returned. ‘I can’t get a reply, I wonder if he’s alright?’
Stone sensed worry in her tone and moved in front of the toilet door. ‘It’s Commissioner Stone here. You OK in there, young man?’
They listened. Just the running of the shower could be heard.
‘How long?’ he said to the nurse.
‘Ten minutes.’
‘TEN MINUTES! Rats! Dickinson – open the door.’
The officer sized up the door then ran to the fire extinguisher and pulled it off the wall. Moments later he smashed it against the lock like a battering ram.
The door swung open.
Stone ran in and searched the small cubicle. On the floor was the boy’s medical gown.
‘Oh, Christ alive,’ Stone said as he slumped against the wall. ‘He’s gone.’
‘What do you mean, gone?’ the nurse said. ‘It’s impossible.’
But they could all see it was empty.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Stone yelled. ‘Where is that bloody boy?’
Stone leant down and picked up the flimsy garment. As he did, and much to his astonishment, a pile of fine, grey ash fluttered to the floor.
CAIN DESPERATELY WANTED TO JUMP, run, thump the air, kick something, beat someone up. But he knew he needed to keep his energy level in check.
The boy was back. Ha, ha! I knew he’d come – I was right – I knew it!
He hadn’t worked out quite how they might communicate, but thought it was worth a try.
‘Boy, can you hear me?’ he said, and then repeated it, booming out the words.
Cain listened. Nothing.
So, in his head, he thought his question very precisely. I would like to know your name, boy! A tingle came back. Slightly gibberish, but definitely worth developing.
He listened again. There … just. He scrunched his face up. Yes, definitely a noise, though a bit echoey. Perhaps this wasn’t going to work.
Suddenly, another absolutely brilliant idea struck him. It was risky alright, but the boy had nowhere to go and
couldn’t leave so it had to be worth a try.
Cain ushered their ashen body onto the floor. Then, in the same way as before when he’d left the boy in the tree, Cain pushed out of the body, trying not to do it so fast or with quite as much force. Slowly he squeezed out, as though plying himself out of a thick, tight, rubber mould. When out, he clapped his hands and looked down at the boy’s naked torso sprinkled in ash.
Kemp stared back, spitting ash from his mouth. ‘You let me out?’
Cain audibly sighed from beside him. ‘As I said, this time it will be different. This time, I need to look after you, I have to earn your trust, boy.’
Kemp realised the ghost genuinely meant it. ‘My name, by the way, is Kemp,’ Kemp said.
‘Ah, so you heard?’
‘Yes. And please don’t yell. I can hear you easily when you speak. Were you trying to think it, too? Didn’t really come through.’
Cain smiled. ‘Hmm. Just as I suspected.’
Kemp stood up and began to dust himself down. ‘Any chance of some clothes?’
‘Of course.’ Cain picked up the bath cap. ‘I’ll put this on so you know where I am, Kemp.’ A floating see- through bath cap hovered nearby. ‘Schmerger!’ Cain yelled.
Shortly, a tidy manservant appeared with a long, neat, pointed black beard and a strange black hat that muddled between a skull cap and a beret.
Kemp covered his privates.
‘Find a robe for your new master, Schmerger. Quick, quick!’
Schmerger frowned, his long nose bending even further down. ‘sire.’
He returned with a thick, silky, burgundy red robe adorned with golden snakes. Kemp slipped it over him, and, being several sizes too large it fell over the floor.
‘Now for your welcome home surprise!’ Cain said.
‘Surprise?’
‘Yes, yes. Come along. Follow the strange hat!’
Kemp strode through an extraordinary building that looked somewhere between a vast cave and a palace. On one side jagged mountain-side rocks were inlaid with jewels and gold, and on the other, a vast chimney breast was flanked by windows and shelves filled with drawers, and all covered in dust.
