by D B Nielsen
As Zeke – with a curiously raised eyebrow – placed a pair of Dad’s wire-cutters and a Maglite torch upon the table, Sariel answered, ‘Phoenix instructed me to give it to the Wise One.’
‘And what has Finn got to do with it?’ Fi said, more sharply than she intended.
Sariel was silent for a long moment, as if he expected the Anakim to jump in and say something about Finn’s involvement. But they didn’t.
‘Wise One,’ he said quietly, the tone was completely neutral, ‘I cannot say what the son of Semyaza intended; he is a law unto himself, and it was not my place to ask.’
I said nothing. There was nothing much to say. This was between my sister and Finn. Something still lay between them – but again, whether it was love or hate, I could not tell. The past never truly died. You could file it away at the back of some musty cabinet and try to forget it ever happened, hoping it wouldn’t haunt you later or bite you in the butt. But sometimes it did just that.
‘Why did he keep it? And why did he give you my backpack to return to me?’ My sister looked like she wanted to recall her words or bite her tongue, but it was too late.
Sariel shrugged, sensing her inner turmoil, and turned his glance to the shimmering terracotta rooftops of Rome. ‘He knew we were defecting and he did not stay our hand. I tell you true. Your Emim is still a king among gods.’
I snorted, then seeing one or two raised eyebrows, tried – rather unsuccessfully – to turn it into a cough. Nobody was fooled. But, seriously, Sariel’s choice of epithets was not what I would have labelled the crafty and calculating Finn. Then again, he was well matched in my sister – as I took in the array of tools which now lay openly upon the coffee table, testament to her illegal activities and plans at Satis House.
Picking up my Mum’s “misplaced” kitchen blow torch – the one she used to make the thin layer of toffee on her crème brulee – Gabriel asked, his smile sardonic, ‘Les bras m’en tombent! What were you going to do with this? Were you planning on whipping them up dessert? Or perhaps your intention was to kill the Emim with your cooking?’
‘Oh ha ha! You think you’re so funny, don’t you? Just because you think you’re so ...’ Fi began and might have said more but, immediately sobering, she reached out to snatch up a colourful brochure placed on the coffee table beside the hardware. She stiffened as she examined it, stating, ‘This isn’t mine.’
Curiously, the rest of us gathered around the table to view the item she was holding tightly, as if her very life depended upon it.
Regarding the brochure with wide amber eyes, I read the title aloud, ‘“Hampton Court Palace” ... Well, that’s true. Until recently, Fi had no interest in anything historical, so it’s definitely not hers.’
‘Let me take a look at that, Saffron,’ instructed Gabriel, his tone guarded.
His expression and the intensity of his request had my sister immediately surrendering the document to him.
It only took Gabriel but a moment to flick through the pamphlet; his eyes missing nothing. Then he gave a sharp bark of laughter and muttered, ‘éventer la mèche! Ah, Phoenix, est un vieux renard, tôt ou tard, il finira chez un fourreur!’
‘Might I see it?’ I asked, curious as to why Gabriel might call Finn a sly, old fox.
Gabriel pretended not to hear me. ‘Do you know anything about this, Sariel? If you do, it would be better if you own up now.’
Sariel looked vexed, his dark brows drawing together in a frown. ‘Of course not. What do you take me for? I had my orders. I didn’t open the bag. It was entrusted to me and belongs to the Wise One.’
Satisfied, Gabriel let out a pensive sign.
‘Gabriel?’ Fi said on a terse note, clearly not appreciating being left out of a discussion that concerned her. ‘I’d like to have a look at the leaflet that was sent to me.’
‘Mais oui, bien sûr.’ But he had a wary, contemplative look upon his face.
‘What is it, Gabriel?’ I asked as he passed the pamphlet over to Fi. ‘What’s wrong?’
I felt ready to burst, knowing there was something hidden in between its folds. Eager for my chance to view it, I shook with suppressed excitement, leaning in, trying to see around my sister, who was now hunched over the leaflet.
Unfolding it like an accordion, my sister scanned the picture postcard images of Hampton Court Palace and the accompanying text. It was a typical tourist brochure; of the kind that gave a brief description of the site’s attractions and facilities, accompanied by glossy, high resolution images, from close-ups to panoramic shots, of the red brick Tudor architecture and extensive gardens, stained glass windows and clock towers.
There was a poetic verse on one of the panels, which Fi read, ‘“Why come ye not to Court?/ To which Court?/ To the King’s Court/ Or to Hampton Court?/ Nay to the King’s Court./ The King’s Court/ Should have the excellence/ But Hampton Court/ Hath the pre-eminence.” What the hell? That’s a pretty lame poem.’
I rolled my eyes at her – she thought the lyrics to the theme song of her favourite sitcom was poetic, so her opinion didn’t count for much.
‘What does it mean? Is he taunting us?’ Fi asked. She didn’t seem too thrilled at the thought.
‘Consider it an invitation,’ murmured Gabriel, eyes narrowed, hands thrust into his trouser pockets as he rocked back on his heels, broodingly.
‘An invitation to what?’ Kal asked in confusion. ‘It seems more like Cinderella being invited to the ball at the palace than to do battle.’
But Fi seemed agitated, pointing to the enlarged image displayed on the brochure of the great Astronomical Clock which overlooked Clock Court in the centre of the palace. ‘Don’t you see? The zodiac?’
Finally, she handed the brochure to me so that I could take a look at it in minute detail.
The great Astronomical Clock at Hampton Court Palace was extremely beautiful and extremely precious – one of the most significant late-medieval clocks still in existence – and crafted to the highest workmanship. Fifteen feet in diameter, it consisted of three separate, elaborately painted and gilded copper dials, of different sizes, with a common centre but revolving at different speeds, set in a decorative stone frame – telling the hour, month, day of the month, the position of the sun in the ecliptic, the zodiac, the number of days that had elapsed since the beginning of the year, the phases of the moon, its age in days, the hour at which it crossed the meridian, and the time of high water at London Bridge – and powered by a mathematically complex gearing mechanism.
From when my parents had first brought us to see Hampton Court Palace, I had fallen in love with the intricate detail on this clock – and later it became a source of fascination because of my aspirations to become a conservator.
The conservation treatment that was needed to preserve this almost five hundred-year-old painted and gilded masterpiece from its constant exposure to wind and rain, from flaking and fading, led to the clock surrendering its most prized secrets – such as the previously undiscovered traces of the vivid blue pigment azurite, a favourite colour of Henry VIII, on the iron armatures of several dials. The conservators retained the existing colour scheme but restored its original vivid character, repainting the faded blue and red colours, and cleaning and retouching the gilded symbols and astrological figures. It was a thing of splendour.
‘Well, the zodiac is certainly in keeping with Henry’s dramatic aesthetics,’ muttered Pen. ‘Though I liked it better when the clock had pictures of ships, oceans and continents on its original dial. It was so much more colourful and festive – you remember the vermillion, ecru, bright white, and gilded gold Henry chose, don’t you, Gabriel?’
Despite my surprise at Pen’s statement – I often forgot the age of the Nephilim and what they might have experienced in their lifetime – I saw that Fi was right.
‘You do realise that the clock was designed before the discoveries of Copernicus and Galileo, when it was believed the sun revolved around the Earth rather than the Earth arou
nd the sun?’
I pointed out where the Astronomical Clock depicted the Earth, representing it as a small globe in the centre, while the sun circled it on a pointer.
Gabriel nodded. ‘You do realise that you are the Earth, mes enfants?’
Doubt and fear gnawed at me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If I may be so bold, Wise One?’ Sariel came forward with a reverent bowing of his head. I stifled a sigh. This would begin to wear on my nerves if he stayed with us much longer – not that I preferred it when he was trying to kill Fi and me but I was determined to rid him of such deference for us as soon as possible. ‘I believe there is some grave portent of things to come – those born under the sign of the bull, like yourself, are of the element of earth.’
The bull, the element of earth, the Pleiades – so many portents and signs.
I let out a sigh of frustration then turned back to the brochure. Something about the clock image was different from as I remembered. Yet there was a niggling sense of familiarity. ‘So it establishes our involvement, but we already knew that.’
‘You fail to understand,’ said Gabriel, smiling mysteriously but without humour. ‘We are being welcomed to the next round of the game. We’ve been given the enemy’s next move. And, if I’m not mistaken, Finn knows more about this than just the predicted gameplay. Look carefully at the clock – it reveals the precise date and time when we shall next meet the enemy. And, of course, we know the location too. Do we take this in good faith? Or is it a trap?’ At this, his eyes narrowed to slithers of mercury as he gazed, assessingly, upon the Fravashi-Gibborim.
‘You think everything is a trap,’ scoffed Zeke. But there was respect in his look.
‘Euf, mon ami, that’s how I’ve managed to stay alive,’ said Gabriel, still smiling knowingly, like the Cheshire Cat. And, again, I was struck by how much Gabriel was a chameleon.
‘So that’s what the brochure means!’ cried Fi, throwing herself down onto the sofa in disgust. ‘We’re being dragged even further into a dangerous game! Exactly what is Finn up to?’
‘It is far more dangerous than you know.’ Sariel’s voice was quiet, his expression sombre. ‘The humble beginnings of the palace reflect that it was once the agricultural estates of the Knights Hospitallers, also known as the Order of St. John – a rather ironic title, given the circumstances – and whilst this means nothing to you, these warriors were once my brothers in arms. We fought together in Jerusalem and on other grounds, consecrated and heathen. Some of the Knights Hospitallers numbered amongst the Gibborim and later, due to disillusionment and betrayal, changed allegiances to the Fravashi. Some of them – the best of them – I led into battle as their Commander ... up until a few days ago.’ He paused and looked at Fi and me, his dark eyes shadowed. ‘I must advise against the Wise One going to Hampton Court Palace. Whilst I have only the highest regard for Phoenix, as he is a warrior who adheres to a code of honour, the Fravashi and Belladonna are sure to be present. Certainly, the daughter of perdition, apostate false queen, is a canker who will continue to infect all, and has no honour.’
I understood what he was trying to tell me without him having to voice it. ‘Belladonna will be present with St. John.’
‘Yes.’
‘Beware Belladonna,’ Fi murmured ironically.
We were all quiet for a moment.
Outside on the terrace, I could see Elijah, his back turned to me, his hair burning brightly like golden flames in the sunlight. He stood at the edge of the terrace, facing towards the direction of Vatican City and St. Peter’s Basilica as if yearning for an unattainable paradise; a paradise once known and since lost and now unrecoverable.
I thought I knew what he was going through. I felt it raw. The pain was intense.
I knew what Belladonna intended. She would do whatever it took to break me by breaking St. John.
‘Then trap or no trap, I have to be there too,’ I stated, tensely. ‘I can save him.’
Taken aback, Sariel hesitated a moment before he asked, ‘What if you cannot, Wise One?’
‘You do not understand my meaning. One way or another, I will save him,’ I said, slowly. The Watcher turned to face me, hearing my words. He watched me through lowered lashes which scattered the sunlight like diamonds. ‘If I must, I will use Mizrael. I will free him. I will show him mercy.’
It took but a moment for my words to sink in.
‘Sage! No! We’ll find a way! You can’t mean it!’ I heard Fi protest, knowing that every word I’d spoken was an arrow to the heart, but I ignored both her and the pain. Because I did mean it.
Somehow, deep down, I knew that St. John would want me to release him from the poison and the pain – and I would grant him a mercy that I could not grant myself. If it came down to it, if I had to, I would find the necessary fortitude and courage to do it. And hate myself afterwards.
‘I am sorry, mon cœur.’ The silent whisper swept through me and I hoped that St. John heard it.
I kept my eyes trained on the Watcher, swallowing against a throat that felt dry and abrasive like sandpaper. Something deep passed between us. He knew what must happen. Perhaps it was the price I had agreed to pay without, at first, consciously knowing it.
Grimly, I knew that no lifetime would be long enough to assuage my yearning for St. John. And no lifetime long enough for understanding the nature of love and trust. And, given this knowledge, no lifetime short enough to contend with it on my own.
This new sorrow settled into a solid weight to accompany the burden of the seraph blade which I already carried. Mentally, I tested its heaviness and was further dismayed at the thought of having to shoulder it any great distance or time alone.
‘Come, Wise One,’ Elijah sent as clearly as if he had spoken. ‘You do not walk alone.’
He reminded me that I was stupidly wallowing in self-pity. It would not do.
‘One thing my sister has taught me,’ I said to the others, and, at this, I sent a small smile Fi’s way, ‘is that in any game, it is the player’s choice to react to a threat – real or perceived – offensively or defensively. We may have been drawn into the game by the Grigori, or by some other force – the Creator, the Seed, nature, fate – but the best defence is a good offence, as they say. Remember that our mission, as Gabriel so eloquently put it, is to save the world.’
I placed the brochure back on the coffee table and moved away, distancing myself from the others. It was as if my gesture released the tension in the room. They stood, stretched, moved about the suite. Their voices resounded with a daring and bravado that came from being placed under intolerable stress for too long. Now suddenly free.
Elijah had turned away again, returning to his former pose; chasing in spirit, the liberty he sought. I opened the French doors to the terrace, wondering if I should approach him, when Fi reached out and put her arm around my shoulders.
‘Come on, Sage,’ my sister said, gently. ‘Have something to eat. It will make you feel better.’
Reluctantly, I let myself be drawn away from my dark thoughts as I was led back to the untouched platters of food laid out on the terrace table. But I knew that until St. John was free from Belladonna, and only then, nothing would make me feel better.
BLOOD AND BONE
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘Gabriel is right. If we go after Belladonna to end this without the support of the ... Gibborim ...’ I paused infinitesimally as the word felt and sounded strange in my mouth. ‘... and without a plan, she will vanquish us. And St. John and the others will be beyond salvation.’
We were seated on the terrace. The entire day had passed and night bled the colours of the Rome skyline to a clear midnight with a hem of pale violet. And in all that time, the Watcher in his human form had not moved from his pose as sentinel, even as the sun dipped beyond the horizon and the city lights had flickered to life – and I knew that this was Elijah’s doing too, that the electrical lights stayed on because he was somehow manipulating our environment –
though it seemed unremarkable to my companions.
‘It’s a pity you can’t touch all the other Fravashi and convert them too,’ Fi said, sipping at a chilled bottle of Sprite as she lounged back in her chair, next to Zeke.
‘Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. If it did, I wouldn’t hesitate to do it,’ I said emphatically.
It was amazing how calm and cool I sounded, when I was anything but – especially as I could feel things changing shape around me. The things I thought I knew were no longer solid or predicable. Even my sense of self.
‘I’m bringing up the latest schematics of Hampton Court Palace which should have all the structural remodelling done to it over the centuries – floor plans, building elevations and cross-sections, maintenance areas with service tunnels, ducting and drains, conduits, electrical wiring – and the gardens, maze, orangery, the bridge, greens, parks ... well, it’s all there ... including the sections inaccessible to the public and those still hidden and unknown to the trustees,’ Zeke informed us as he clicked to open multiple files to display them onscreen for all of us to see. There were a few laptops, networked, dotting the surface of the outdoor table, but Zeke and Kal were the ones manipulating the images and information onscreen.
Puzzled, I asked, ‘Hidden and unknown to the trustees?’
‘Sariel’s men have more information about the grounds of the palace than we do. They called in a few favours from some of the former occupants and were able to provide greater clarity on the secrets of the site and its routes, still hidden and kept safe,’ Zeke explained as he keyed in a few more commands.
My eyes trailed over some rough maps from the twelfth century, displayed onscreen, and I noted what appeared to be a once small estate surrounded by a moat; the original structure and layout of Hampton Court Palace. It seemed that the Knights Hospitallers had established a great barn or hall and a stone camera – a dark chamber which was thought to be used as an estate office – on the large grounds. On another window, there were lists of agricultural produce from the manor and the funds they raised to help support the Order of St John in the Holy Land against the Turks.
