The Whispering Swarm (42 page)

‘Who could by industrious valour climb, to ruin that great work of time, and cast the kingdoms old into another mould…? You must be sorry not to find your friends here. And all this destruction! Rehearsing the End of the World, perhaps?'

I looked back and at once recognised Captain James St Claire, the swarthy, brown-eyed soldier who had saved me from the Roundhead thief takers and joined us in that earlier fight at the Inn. A bit of a mystery. Now unwounded, he stood leaning on a wall just across from the abbey. What was he babbling? Some seventeenth-century play? He was dressed much the same as when I had first seen him, though he had added a few bright pheasant feathers to his hat. This shaded his face at an angle and made me wonder if he were perhaps a survivor from some battle between the Scots and the English. The Scots were as divided amongst themselves as the people on the other side of the border. This man's accent was educated, from the northeast. Durham, maybe? As before, his long, basket-hilted sword was scabbarded at his side. He had pistols and a big sheathed knife in his belt. He looked like a man just back from a long journey through dangerous country. He did not appear to have found much plunder. Rather, he had the bearing of a soldier in some defeated cause. Part of the army Cromwell had finally scattered for good?

‘Did you see any of this?' I asked. He knew what I meant.

He shook his head. ‘I've learned little more than you. I came here looking for Prince Rupert, to offer help dragging his Cosmolabe from the rubble and repairing it
.'

‘But you disappeared after the fight,' I said. ‘Where did you go?'

‘I had some urgent business elsewhere. As now. War's made rogues and liars of us all.' He bowed his head. ‘I've seen savagery in these days, but never a whole town destroyed and its inhabitants with it.' He looked up suddenly. ‘I've left my horse outside. She'll be agitated. I should be going.' His Yorkshire brogue was deeper, as if he anticipated seeing his native Hull. He took off his feathered bonnet and bowed again. Then he said: ‘If you do not ride the silver roads, I would suggest you wait until—ah!' He saw something behind me. I heard a noise from inside. I glimpsed a pair of dark eyes looking through the little window in the door. Then, squeaking, the bolts were drawn back.

‘Silver roads?'

The door opened. Friar Isidore was there, smiling shyly. ‘I had hoped you would come. If only to reassure us of your safety. Would you like some tea?'

He spoke only to me. I turned. James St Claire had gone. Back to his horse?

‘Oh, what the hell!' I said to myself, accepting Isidore's invitation. And I followed him through the door of the abbey.

 

33

DICING WITH THE DEITY

Friar Isidore took me back through the darkened passage and chapel and into the abbot's room. Was the old man expecting me? His features were a little drawn but hadn't evidently aged. His pale fingers emerging from his sleeves, he gestured for us to be seated. As Friar Isidore poured freshly brewed tea, Father Grammaticus offered teacakes and crumpets. I could be in one of those English school stories, having tea with the headmaster.
Stalky & Co
meets
Mr Chips
. The abbot asked after my health. How was I ‘making progress' in the ‘outside world'? He seemed surprised when I mentioned my children. Hadn't Mrs Melody brought them here?

In spite of my anger I was concerned for Molly and the others. What had happened to the Alsacia and her inhabitants?

‘Oh, it's of no concern, my boy. Time's rays, you know. The Cosmolabe. Really, it will all be put to rights.'

I was baffled. ‘What has happened to Molly? Captain Turpin? Captain Duval? Prince Rupert and the rest?'

‘There was a further attack on the abbey. Captain Nixer's hatred of us is unreasoning. He calls us papists and other dangerous names. He believes we hide a great fortune in gold and gems. We were in some danger, true. But the worst was averted. I am certain that none of our friends were harmed and they will all rejoin us here soon.'

‘But what happened, Father Abbot? There were living people here! At The Swan With Two Necks, for instance!'

‘We grew spiritually weak. We let the men of violence break through. Of course, they never harm the abbey. Or, I should say, they have not harmed us yet. We were expecting an attack. The soldiers failed to breach the abbey.'

‘They attacked? Was it Nixer and his Roundheads again?'

‘No doubt.'

‘They took prisoners, I suppose?' I suggested. ‘There were no dead that I saw.'

‘We did all we could to resist them in our own ways. But many defended the Swan until the soldiers killed them.'

‘Don't you know why there aren't any remains? Why everyone has disappeared?' Frightened, I was unnaturally aggressive.

‘Remains? They hid themselves, I suppose.' The abbot smiled somewhat vaguely.

‘Turpin, Duval and the rest? My Molly? Her mother? How? Where?'

The abbot shook his head, smiling gently. ‘Some of us seek to choose our own destinies. Some of us insist on attempting to control that destiny. Your friends are their own masters.'

‘But they followed the prince,' I said. ‘You know that. They defended the abbey, Father! I saw the evidence. The rubble.'

‘Oh, no, my boy. We gave them sanctuary.'

‘You let them be wounded, killed, abducted!'

The abbot was surprised. ‘Of course not. You forget what this place is. Within the Sanctuary they are immune to mortal wounds. As they are to ordinary mortality. Here, as I'm sure you know, our longevity is that of the earliest prophets.'

‘You control such things?' I could not believe I understood him.

‘We do our best.' Exchanging a look of troubled amusement with Friar Isidore, the abbot settled more comfortably into his chair. ‘You have seen the wonderful things we have done to protect the meaning and spirit of Holy Sanctuary. In Alsacia, thanks to our prayers and our learned wisdom, we have created a place where men and women, in lives of quiet contemplation, can study and learn to help their fellows.'

‘I do understand that, Father. But I do
not
understand how an enemy can get in and do the damage I saw out there. Who did this? Our friends and acquaintances are all gone! Was everyone taken prisoner? You can't leave me with so many questions unanswered. Where's your Christian charity?'

The abbot seemed shocked. ‘Master Michael. I thought you knew we are an ancient order. We studied in time-begrimed Ur and survived the rise and fall of empires. In direct line we are at least as old as Persia. We came to Carmel long before Christ. Yet we acknowledge Christ, as we acknowledge all true prophets. But we have gained knowledge which Christians fear and call the Dark Arts!' He smiled. ‘We have been hated by so many—so many … yet we continue to serve God and mankind and keep our word as best we can. As an adept, you must know—'

‘Adept? I'm a writer, that's all. I am concerned for my friends! Do you not take vows? I understood the Carmelites to be a Christian order!'

‘Indeed they are, to the world at large. We never claimed to be simply Christian. Here, we retained our old practises, neither denying the divinity of Jesus Christ nor the wisdom of his message. We also acknowledge Abraham and Mohammed. We accept the teachings of Buddha and Confucius, of Shinto and Hindu and Jain, of Jat and Copt and Catholic and all our worlds' spiritual beliefs. That which divides mankind must be that which unites it. We acknowledge all faiths.'

‘But you let people think you are Christians!'

‘In these parts, anyone wearing habits such as ours is taken for a Christian.'

‘So you are liars and hypocrites?'

‘Is it not better to love God than merely to fear or worship Him? Jesus Christ taught that. We keep our knowledge secret. We live as Christians but tell no lies to protect ourselves. Since we all believe in the same ideals, we are saddened at the way the love of God is recruited in a hatred of others.'

‘I saw Hasidic Jews visiting you,' I told him. ‘Do they think you are Jews?'

‘No.' The abbot made a sign. Friar Isidore refreshed our tea, offering chocolate digestives and Fig Newtons. ‘No. They came to see our Treasure.'

‘The Fish Chalice?'

He chuckled. ‘Is that what you call it?' His grey eyes met mine suddenly. ‘It is not the Holy Grail, my boy.' He smiled at my astonishment. ‘I know your obsessions!' His expression was one of innocent delight. ‘I am sure one or two of the Grail myths come partly from our chalice. We've enjoyed our stewardship of the Cup for more than two thousand years, first in Palestine, then in England and France. Our fellow Carmelites gradually allowed themselves to come under the discipline of Rome. While embracing our stewardship of the Chalice and our guardianship of the Treasure, we continued to draw strength from all metaphysical ideas.'

Suddenly, he grew extremely sober. ‘My boy, you are a natural psychic, as you no doubt know. And you come from a line of adepts, carriers of the old knowledge. That is how you always find us. You would not be here otherwise.'

I was confused. ‘What about the prince? Was he also psychic?'

‘Indeed. Psychics and changelings can come and go pretty much as they please.'

‘Changelings?'

‘Native born, they are put out to foster and they, too, can come and go pretty much as they please. The majority of Alsacia's children have your gift. But they find themselves unable to live ambiguous lives. They choose to dwell in one place or the other. Not both.'

I was increasingly impatient. ‘But what on earth happened out there?' He was trying to distract me, I was sure. ‘Was the Sanctuary breached by enemies hunting for your so-called Treasure? Are these enemies no longer ruled by any decent code of conduct? By law? Or God? Or honour, if you like?'

‘Or chivalry? Another ideal we so rarely live up to.' Friar Isidore shook his ancient head. ‘That is why some of us become friars, to study the old wisdom and counter the powers of the material world. These include statesmanship, speech, singing and, sometimes, swordsmanship. “
Touché!
” Thus you acknowledge your opponent's successful lunge.' And he pantomimed, with sudden humour, a passage of blades.

Reluctantly deciding that the old man was at least partly senile, I tried again: ‘But why were they
all
taken away and their houses left to fall into ruin?' I asked.

‘An anomaly, I suppose. But they are safe enough, I'm sure. Not every brane is under our control.'

I turned to Friar Isidore. ‘Do you know who or what set the houses on fire?'

He replied promptly. ‘Our enemies! Of course! I thought we explained! Those who would steal our Treasure. But God again provided a miracle.'

I was incredulous. ‘But I saw the ruins. The blood. People died out there. Some were my good friends. I loved one of them.' I stopped.

Seeing my distress, the abbot grew serious. ‘Heaven protects its own. That is a constant.'

‘A constant? What's a constant, exactly?'

Father Grammaticus frowned. ‘We must get some more teacakes. I see you are enjoying them.'

I had been eating almost compulsively as I often did when I was nervous. I could eat a dozen doughnuts just waiting to board a plane. I began to apologise, but now both monks were smiling.

‘We have plenty of teacakes,' said Father Grammaticus.

And then I wondered if perhaps they
had
slipped something into the buns. Weren't we reprising
Alice
? It reminded me of a mad hatter's tea party we'd done for school one time. I was certainly having trouble understanding the conversation.

‘Where did they go? Out into Cromwell's London?' I grew increasingly baffled. I imagined a wheel with certain defined stops, each a different alternative to our own world.

Father Grammaticus sighed and lowered his eyes. I could tell the monks would not be any more forthcoming.

‘Perhaps we could continue this conversation later?' Reluctantly, I began to rise. I needed to return to Helena and the girls. They would be concerned and I was vaguely worried for them.

‘That would be delightful.' The abbot got up slowly. Brother Isidore was already on his feet. ‘You have a fine, enquiring mind, young man. I am so glad you are here to help us with God's work.'

I wondered if I should remind him I didn't believe in God and ask exactly how I was helping, but I wanted to get out of there. They wouldn't tell me where Moll was, so I would find her for myself. Meanwhile I needed to reassure myself that my children and my wife were all right.

Brother Isidore took me to the abbey's outer entrance. ‘It was a great pleasure to see you. And you have made the abbot so happy.' He opened the door.

I walked out into a cold winter's evening. The acrid stink of burnt wood and stone had disappeared, replaced with a smell of sweet smoke against the clean, frosty snap of the air. Every building was as fresh as my first sight of it. A horse and cart went by in the crowded street. I caught the stink of the open sewers. I heard human voices, a cock crowing, dogs barking. I looked back to ask the friar what on earth had happened but he had already closed the door.

The whole of Alsacia was exactly as I remembered it! People strolled the narrow bustling streets. Huxters argued. Lovers met and parted. They bought and they sold. They gossiped and laughed. The air was rich with the scent of life. I could smell food cooking. The Swan With Two Necks spilled over with customers, and her stables were busy with ostlers tending the usual horses. A muted babble came from her bars. I knew now what it meant to feel your head swim. Which had been the illusion? Could it be both?

I needed a drink. I headed for the Swan.

The warmth of the Sanctuary immediately embraced and comforted me. Those familiar smells and noises were like a drug. The day was as cold here as it was outside, but the temperature was somehow different. I inhaled the farmyard smells of a London where people still rode horses and raised animals for meat, milk or fur. I heard the clop of horseshoes striking cobblestones, the clucking of chickens, the hissing of geese. Voices were raised in cheerful conversation. Someone shouted an insult from a top floor window. The clatter of looms. A chiming clock. The clanging of cookware. Honking donkeys, bleating goats. The evidence of all those animals was left on the same cobblestones. Not all crap was good for the garden!