Strangeness and Charm: The Courts of the Feyre (37 page)

  "It could be more dangerous than any of us suspected."

  "There's something else," I said to her. "In Angela's vision, there was a library, not the British Library, but a much older one. There was a man reading a book and the book had the symbols in it – similar to the ones that Gregor showed us in the book, or very like them.

  "Who was the man?" she asked.

  "I don't know, maybe it was that guy, Crowley? How would I recognise him?"

  "We could probably have found a photo if you'd said something earlier," said Blackbird.

  "I didn't want to say anything in front of Gregor or Julian. Who knows what else he's aware of that he's not telling us?"

  "That's not what worries me. 'The sun will rise and they shall fall – The Order of the Golden Dawn'? Is that a coincidence?"

  "It may be just that, a coincidence," I suggested.

  "Even Deefnir thought it was important. There's something big coming, Niall. I can feel it."

  "Deefnir thought it was to do with our son," I pointed out. "You don't think he's in danger do you?"

  "There have been plenty of opportunities to try something," said Blackbird, "but we've seen nothing of the Seventh Court since you brought Alex out of Porton Down."

  "They'll be lurking somewhere, I don't doubt."

  "No, if they were here then Raffmir would take the opportunity to taunt you. He couldn't resist it. He'd be appearing at every opportunity, pretending to know more than he really does."

  "Then what's it all about?"

  "I don't know," she said. "Alex may have triggered something. These people she's with, perhaps they have something to do with it?"

  "Aren't you the one who is always telling me how useless prophesies are?"

  "That's the frustrating part. If we only knew what we were looking for…"

  Gregor stirred, his eyes flicked open. He sat upright. "We are almost there, yes?"

  The train began slowing as we tracked around the outskirts of Hereford and then curved around to cross the river into the city.

  "Now," said Gregor, "we shall see what can be seen."

 

Gregor's instructions to the taxi driver were to take us to the village of Kilpeck, which turned out to be about ten miles or so south-west of Hereford. The taxi dropped us near a country pub, one of those that had once been a local for the villagers but had been transformed into a restaurant catering for the owners of sports cars and four-by-fours. Gregor paid the taxi driver and asked him for a business card so that we could ring when we needed to get back to the station.

  We walked up the lane past farm buildings and village houses towards the church, topping a small rise at one end of the village. It was a squat building on a rise of meadow graveyard with walls of pinkish stone and a slate roof rising to a sharp peak, a bell-cote at one end. The roof stepped down twice to a rounded end that looked as if it might have been added as an afterthought.

  "It's Norman," said Blackbird, "and in surprisingly good condition. When did you say it was built, Gregor?"

  "Construction was in the twelfth century, sometime around 1140. There was a motte and bailey castle on the western side but alas, that has not survived. Only the church remains intact."

  Gregor walked through the churchyard gate straight up to the ornate doorway. I recognised it from the drawing in the book he showed us, and from Angela's vision. It was the same portal, there could be no other like it, surely? The heavy wood had been weathered to an almost stone-like grey with huge iron hinges bracing the door, while the stone archway had been detailed with carvings of mythical creatures with vines twining around and in between them, bound together with celtic knots. If anything, the reality was even more impressive than the vision had been.

  "Wow!" I said. "That's some door. Was this place important at some point?" I looked back to the village behind us, which hardly seemed to merit the ostentation put into the church. Gregor ignored my comments and focused on inspecting the carvings around the arch.

  I turned to Blackbird, intending to try and indicate that I had something to tell her out of Gregor's earshot, but she was already moving away.

  "Look at these corbels," said Blackbird, heading off around the side of the church.

  "These what?" I asked, following her.

  "The stone projections under the roof-line," she explained. "Decorations carved under the roof-line. These are superb. I've never seen anything like them."

  Along the wall, under where the supports for the roof jutted out were stone carved heads looking down at us. Some were recognisable; a hound nestled against a rabbit and an owl's face peered down at us. Others were oddities, creatures that looked like aardvarks or men in strange helmets.

  I looked back to see if Gregor had followed us, he was standing by the portal watching from a distance. "I've seen this place before," I said to Blackbird in a low tone that would not carry to Gregor.

  "You have?" she said.

  "In Angela's vision. There was a man here, talking to the priest. They were talking about something the man wasn't comfortable doing. He talked about protecting something."

  "Hmm," said Blackbird. "Perhaps he was talking about the corbels, Well, look at that."

  "What am I looking at?" I asked her.

  She pointed out a rather grotesque figure. Its hands seemed to be pulling apart its abdomen.

  "That's a Sheela Na Gig," said Blackbird. "It must be one of no more than a handful that survived."

  "What's it doing?" I asked her.

  "She's showing us her genitals," said Blackbird, "which as you may imagine, did not go down well with the puritans. I thought they'd destroyed them all."

  "What an odd thing." I looked up at the strange image. "Why would you put that on a church?"

  "Where's Gregor?" said Blackbird.

  I looked around. I had assumed that he was waiting for us, but he was nowhere to be seen. "He must be in the church," I said.

  "Come on," said Blackbird. "He's up to something."

  She walked briskly back around the church and placed her hand on the door. It clunked and swung open under her hand. Inside the church to our left was a font, an ancientlooking parish display and wooden steps leading up to a choir gallery. To our right was the body of the church with darkoak pews arranged to either side.

  Beyond that was the apse, where the altar was placed, and between was a tall arch, similar in shape the main door, but larger. Gregor was beyond this, muttering to himself.

  "Look," I said, pointing out the carvings on the arch to Blackbird.

  On either pillar there were monks carved into the stone, one above another. They looked grim, each bearing a token as if it were a great weight. On the left the monks were holding a sceptre, a key and a scourge, and on the right they were holding a cross, an arrow and a feather.

  "I guess we're in the right place," I said to Blackbird.

  She was watching Gregor through the archway. He was kneeling behind a pew which was placed on the far right of the arch. For a moment I thought he was praying. On the stone flags beyond the arch he had chalked the six symbols we saw in the book.

  "It has gone," he muttered to himself. "What will we do? How? How can this be?"

  "What's he saying?" I asked Blackbird.

  In one motion he jumped to his feet. "You!" he proclaimed. "You know who did this! You must tell me." His words boomed around the church.

  "Did what?" asked Blackbird. Her words were spoken quietly, encouraging him to calm himself, but he was not calmed.

  "Thief!" He proclaimed. "You do not know what you have stolen."

  "I haven't stolen anything," said Blackbird.

  "I saw you," said Gregor. "The tarot does not lie. The Priestess and the Hanged Man, you were in my laboratory."

  "You said I should visit you," said Blackbird. "Gregor, you invited me."

  "What's he raving about?" I asked her.

  "You came to me with stories of travel to the Americas, but there is no trace of American in your accent, your clothes are from England and your skin is as pale as ever it was. You were never in America."

  He looked from her to me. "Your friend, he trains with a sword, walks like a warrior and speaks of thieves with concern in his voice. He worries for them, why?"

  "What have you lost, Gregor?" she asked him.

  "No!" he said. "You know who has taken it. You will tell me or you will not leave this place."

  He sketched a sign in the air, and the door behind us slammed shut with a sharp bang.

  Blackbird glanced back and then at Gregor. "Party trick?" she asked.

  "I will show you party tricks," he said. He sketched another sign in the air and it was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. I found myself suddenly gasping for breath.

  Gregor seemed to grow in size. "Tell me!" he roared.

  Blackbird was unaffected. "You dare to call upon air with me?" she said with scorn in her voice. She snapped her fingers and the air was restored.

  "Blackbird?" I said. This situation was getting out of control.

  "I knew it," Gregor was elated. "You will pit your mastery against mine! You will return to me what was taken!" He gestured grandly and the room vibrated to his words.

  "I haven't taken anything," said Blackbird, "but you are not quite what you appear to be, are you Gregor?"

  "I challenge you!" he shouted. "Your mastery against mine."

  "I do not accept," said Blackbird. "This is not a game. Something was taken and you will tell me what it was."

  "You already know," said Gregor.

  "I do not, but I will soon." She went to walk forward, but he waved his hand and a shimmering curtain came into being across the arch. "You are not leaving here until you tell me," said Gregor. "I am master here." He smiled at her from beyond his barrier.

  "You do not understand," said Blackbird. "I am not playing games." She shrugged her shoulders and her image wavered. Before me she transformed into the younger Blackbird.

  "Is that wise?" I watched as Gregor's eyes went wide.

  "You are the priestess," Gregor intoned. "Just as it was foretold."

  She clapped her hands together and it was like thunder in the room. The barrier shredded into tatters before her and she strode forward. Gregor shrank back, sketching some defensive symbol in the air. Blackbird barely paused. She swept it aside with the merest gesture. He fell backwards and sprawled before the altar. He held up his hand to ward her off.

  "Mercy," he whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut.

  "Get up, you old fool," she told him. "I am tired of your games."

  "You will spare me?" His voice recovered. "You will not take my soul?"

  "Take your soul?" she demanded. "How in the world would I do that, you bumbling idiot? Now get off your knees and tell me what they have taken before I lose patience and beat you to death with a prayer cushion."

  He looked from her to me and back to her. "I do not understand."

  "No," she said, "you don't, and you probably never will, but something here is very wrong and you will tell me what it is."

  He pushed himself to his knees and then rose hesitantly to his feet. "But you… you have lost decades. You are a young woman."

  "Far from it," she said, "and getting older by the second." She went to the corner where he had been kneeling. "What is this?"

  I went over to peer behind the pew. She was looking down at a slab of stone carved with the symbol that had been in the centre of the six symbols in the book at the British Library. It was a cross of sorts, made from four separate lobes like shields, arranged inside a circle.

  Gregor edged towards her, still hesitant. "I am sworn to secrecy."

  "You test my patience," she said. Somehow her quiet words developed more menace than his booming had.

  "Yes, but… I promised to keep the secret until death."

  Blackbird narrowed her eyes. "That," she said, "can be arranged."

  He blanched under her gaze, but still he said nothing.

  "Let me help you," she said. "Something was stored here, protected by some kind of warding. The key was in that book; six items brought together will open the warding and whatever was inside is yours. Someone has taken it."

  "You know who did it," he said. It was part statement, part question.

  "Perhaps," she relented. "This has been planned from the beginning. Someone has been researching this for some time and their plan, whatever it is, involves what they have taken."

  "It is not for humankind," said Gregor.

  "That's OK," said Blackbird, "They're not exactly human."

  Gregor's eyebrows shot up at this. "It must not be used until the end of days," he said. "It is to be kept until the final battle when it will open the gates for the Gods themselves to intervene."

  "We do not believe in Gods," said Blackbird.

  "The four horsemen, the pantheon, the end and the beginning," said Gregor.

  "You're babbling nonsense again," said Blackbird.

  He stepped forward. "Each of these represent a dimension, Earth, Air, Fire and Water," he said, pointing at the shields, which were actually more like lobes.

  "I am familiar with the concepts of classical philosophy," said Blackbird, icily.

  "No, you misunderstand," said Gregor. "These are not elements like chemical elements. Our universe exists, if it exists, in the interstitial space between four pure planes surely you know this. Each one is anathema to the others. Fire, water, earth and air; they are not literal. These are labels, expressing a fundamental difference and separateness – they might as well have been called truth, beauty, strangeness and charm. Each is distinct, each has its own properties and energies. Only here, in the space between universes, can they exist together."