Seed- Part Two

by D B Nielsen

  Fi stopped munching on her second slice of cake long enough to add, ‘There’s heaps of time still. Sage doesn’t need to make a decision until after New Year.’

  Mum smiled mistily and I wondered if she was going to cry. Up close I could see how tired she was – there were dark purple half-moons under her eyes and her lids were pearly from the sleepless nights spent taking care of my siblings. Perhaps she’d also been stressed at the thought of our exam results as Fi had claimed, though I suspected she was more concerned at the thought of me alone in Paris.

  Mum waxed sentimentally, ‘My two girls have finally grown up and are leaving the chicken coop. Well, at least, I still have you both here till September.’

  I glanced over at Fi, but she had her arms crossed defensively over her chest and was staring out the window in the direction of the forest and, past that, of Satis House, her jaw pulled tight. I wondered what was upsetting her. She’d been planning to go to Oxford for well over a year but now she seemed a little preoccupied with whatever mystery or attraction that Satis House posed for her – even though, as she’d claimed in the car earlier, her choice of a university was a “no-brainer”.

  I, on the other hand, felt myself struggling to reconcile a university degree with my role as the Wise One. I was oppressed by the different calls made upon me and knew that I would be disappointing several members of my family if I gave up my chance at a university degree. The logical decision would be to defer and, like many of my friends, take a gap year. It was an option but one I was unwilling to explore right at this moment, especially as I’d made particular claims to St. John about leading a normal life.

  And that perhaps was the crux of the matter. St. John. I felt anxious when away from his company, like now, and it hadn’t been even twenty-four hours since I’d last seen him. I didn’t know how I would survive not seeing him for days on end, even if I could commute to London on the weekends. Like Fi, I also felt pensive about the paradoxical nature of the certainty yet uncertainty that the future held for us; as Shakespeare wrote in Macbeth, “Such welcome and unwelcome things at once, ‘tis hard to reconcile.”

  There was a loud thump overhead and I jumped, suddenly feeling slightly on edge.

  But Mum merely sighed, pushing her chair back from the breakfast table and rising to her feet. She moved towards the hallway and, ducking her head round the corner, shouted up the stairs, ‘How many times have I told you kids not to play football in the house?’

  A grin spread across my face as Fi muttered under her breath loud enough for me to hear, ‘Little monsters!’

  Another boisterous shout accompanied by a crash and something breaking came from upstairs and this time Mum was up there in a flash, breathing fire.

  ‘They’ve got cabin fever,’ Fi explained to me, turning away from whatever had held her attention outside the window, ‘they’ve been cooped upstairs for three days without their Wii and Skylanders.’

  My grin got wider as I took in Fi’s frustration.

  ‘Just wait,’ Fi said witheringly, ‘you’ll see what it’s like. They’ve been driving me crazy all week. And I’m sick of having soup for dinner – chicken soup, pumpkin soup, potato and leek soup. I’m souped out.’

  ‘Maybe you should learn how to cook,’ I suggested dryly but Fi merely poked out her tongue at me in response, like she would do when we were children.

  A few moments later, Mum re-entered the room carrying a soccer ball which she’d confiscated from my younger siblings. There was silence now from upstairs but I wondered how long that was going to last, so I offered, ‘How about I make dinner tonight? I have this great recipe for beef bourguignon from St. John’s brother.’

  ‘He can cook?’ Fi questioned, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise making her look a little like an anime character.

  ‘Gabriel’s French. Of course, he can cook,’ I replied with a smirk. ‘Maybe he could even teach you.’

  Mum laughed, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. ‘That’s the kind of guy Safie needs – someone who’ll ensure she doesn’t starve.’

  Though Mum’s comment was light-hearted and dismissive, in some ways she was perfectly serious. Fi’s illness had taken its toll on our entire family and especially on her – even now Fi had to stick to a closely-planned diet designed by her nutritionist as there was no cure for her eating disorder, only careful management.

  But Mum continued to question, ‘How old is Gabriel? And is he married? Does he have a girlfriend?’

  ‘I believe he’s close to St. John in age. No, he’s not married. And, yes, he has a girlfriend,’ I replied truthfully enough, and gave a dismissive shrug as Mum murmured ‘Pity’ as I rose from the breakfast table to quit the room.

  Turning away to retrieve my suitcase from the corner where Fi had left it, I avoided Mum’s further curiosity. I didn’t think she’d believe me if I told her that Gabriel was at least a thousand-years-old from what I could gather and she certainly wouldn’t have been very impressed to hear that he was a bit of a player with a string of broken hearts left behind in his wake – that would certainly be the last thing she’d want for any of her girls. So I kept my thoughts to myself and, instead, clumped up the stairs with my suitcase in tow, making my way to my bedroom to unpack my bag before I returned to the kitchen later to make dinner.

  My bedroom was just as I had left it except that I could tell that someone, presumably Fi, had been in my wardrobe helping themselves to items of clothes. I may not have noticed this normally but as my wardrobe was severely limited – as no doubt Fi’s was doubly so – I could tell when things went missing. It didn’t bother me much but, as Fi and I had very different tastes, I wondered why she’d bother with my more conservative style of clothing.

  I slowly unpacked my suitcase and found, tucked into the side, the box of chocolates that St. John had bought for me. Removing it carefully, I placed the chocolates on my bedside table and the distinctive wrapping paper and ribbon in my top drawer as a keepsake. The rest of the contents of my bag either went into the laundry hamper for washing or was hidden on top of my wardrobe to be wrapped and placed under the Christmas tree later. Then I made my way back down to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal – anything to keep my mind off thoughts of St. John, the Seed, and the letters of acceptance from the various universities where I’d tossed them on my desk.

  Dinner was a quiet affair without Jasmine and Alex at the dining table. They had been fed left-over homemade chicken soup and put to bed early, so that the adults could eat in peace and quiet. My attempt at cooking the beef bourguignon turned out almost as well as Gabriel’s and received high praise but there was no accompanying glass of red wine for either Fi or me this time. And the conversation round the table was not composed of tales of the Nephilim but my journey to Paris; in particular, Dad’s fascination with St. John’s lecture at the Sorbonne as he clarified and commented on the salient facts of Babylonian culture which St. John had made.

  The conversation eventually came round to the Akitu festival and, surprisingly, to the on-going investigation of the theft of the artefact.

  ‘We could have featured the artefact at the festival but now that it’s disappeared...’ Dad let his sentence trail off.

  I exchanged a furtive glance with Fi, deliberately remaining silent.

  ‘Well, perhaps Interpol will find out more,’ Mum commented, sipping from her wine glass.

  ‘Interpol?’ I questioned, my voice sharper than I intended.

  Dad gave me a reassuring smile, mistaking the cause of my horror. ‘Don’t worry, it’s unlikely they’ll need anything more from you girls than a statement, but we’ve hit a dead-end and James – Dr Porterhouse, that is – thinks we should call in the proper authorities.’

  ‘Well,’ Mum replied, giving her opinion, ‘they do have more experience in these matters, especially as you feel that its disappearance or theft must have been an inside job.’

  I felt rising nausea, the bitter taste of bile in my throat, and put
down my utensils with a clatter. Under the table, I felt Fi’s hand searching out mine, giving me a squeeze in a gesture of reassurance and solidarity.

  ‘Theft? Are you certain?’ I asked quietly, fear thickening my voice.

  Dad sighed, showing reluctance to discuss this turn of events in front of Fi and me. ‘Yes, though I am still reluctant to believe that it was theft. I’d hate to think that someone from my own department could have been involved in this. But it’s been obvious to us for a while now that it could only have been someone who had access to Conservation and knowledge of the artefact’s existence. We tried to handle it internally to avoid unnecessary publicity but perhaps it would be better if the public learns about the loss of the object and can phone in to report on any sightings.’

  I thought of the artefact placed in a niche in the Crypt near Notre-Dame Cathedral and blanched at the thought that it might be spotted by a tourist wandering off the path when viewing the ruins. Even if the Seed was placed in an obscure position, out of public view, sooner or later it was bound to be discovered. I didn’t know whether to trust that it was sentient and could avoid discovery – after all, it had been stolen before and not just from a museum but from the Garden of Eden.

  Fi was speaking now and I tried to pay attention.

  ‘Won’t that complicate the investigation if you involve the public?’ Fi asked.

  ‘Perhaps, but it’s not my call any more,’ Dad replied, shrugging his shoulders, ‘It’s out of my hands now.’

  Fearfully, not wishing to know the answer which I knew could only hold bad news, I asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Dr Porterhouse has assigned an independent investigator with experience in artefacts from ancient Mesopotamia to liaise with the authorities,’ he explained, ‘He’s apparently an expert in Assyriology and comes highly recommended by the Curator at the Louvre. It’ll be up to him to make that call.’

  ‘But why hire someone from outside the museum?’ I asked, feeling my lips thin into a straight line.

  Dad moved to refill his wine glass, unaware of the tension that was building round the dining table, and stated, ‘Chain of evidence, fear of corruption and inside involvement. There are plenty of reasons.’

  ‘Do you know this investigator, Dad? Have you worked with him before?’ Fi asked, anxiously glancing across at me.

  ‘Not personally, no,’ I heard Dad’s voice answering Fi as if from a distance, ‘but I had the opportunity to meet with Dr Gravois yesterday morning and he seemed an extremely likeable young man. I believe you’ve met him, Sage. He sent you his regards and told me to tell you that he was looking forward to catching up with you soon.’

  WINTER WONDERLAND

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fi and I later discussed the shocking implications of Louis Gravois being appointed to the British Museum as its primary investigator in charge of tracking down the artefact and discovering any new leads to its supposed theft. It placed him in such a frightening position of power over St. John and Dad where he could not only control the course of the investigation but also do the most damage to the men I loved the most. Although St. John would be able to hold his own as he was already well-informed of the danger that Louis posed, my Dad was vulnerable to Louis’ machinations and potentially could be used by Louis to harm us or the Seed.

  Worse still, Louis had made his threat to me personally quite clear as Dad had unwittingly relayed Louis’ true message. Its sinister undertone left me in no doubt as to how vulnerable I really was, but I refused to contact St. John despite Fi’s urgings, knowing very well it would divide his duties – he could not look after me and the Seed at the same time without putting one of us at risk.

  ‘As Assistant Keeper of Ancient Mesopotamian Culture at the British Museum and a member of Dad’s team, St. John would know of Louis’ appointment,’ I reasoned with Fi who was arguing that St. John needed to be apprised of developments, ‘and, besides, his duty lies with protecting the Seed.’

  Fi threw up her hands in exasperation.

  I had retreated to my bedroom after dinner and Fi had deliberately followed me to ensure that I was all right. She was seated on my carpeted floor stroking Indy’s soft ears unconsciously, while I sat pensively at my desk, fiddling with an empty stapler.

  ‘His duty lies in protecting the Wise One who also happens to be his fiancée,’ Fi said. I would have protested at this but Fi carried on, ignoring me, ‘Without you, the Seed isn’t going anywhere. But seeing that you’re going to be stubborn about this, fine, at least call Gabriel.’

  We’d reached an impasse over contacting St. John but I felt that I could at least compromise and call Gabriel. Reaching into the pocket of my overcoat where it lay draped over the back of my chair, I found Gabriel’s slightly crumpled business card.

  I dialled the number of Gabriel’s mobile phone printed in silver script on the distinctive charcoal coloured business card, hoping that I wasn’t interrupting anything important. He answered his phone on the third ring.

  ‘Allô. Gabriel Chevalier. Qui est à l’appareil?’

  ‘Gabriel, it’s Sage.’ Even to my own ears my voice sounded slightly unsettled.

  ‘Sage? Mon petit chou, are you all right?’ Gabriel asked, his voice sounding brisk and alert in an instant.

  Quickly explaining my predicament, I emphasised to Gabriel that I didn’t want him to contact St. John in case he felt that he had to rush back from Paris to look after me. But upon hearing that Louis was in London, Gabriel told me in no uncertain terms that St. John had to be notified at once. As much as I protested, Gabriel ignored me, and a sharp prickle of alarm ran up my spine as I realised that his apprehension was for me, not St. John or the Seed. When I hung up, I felt far less confident than when I had placed the call moments earlier.

  Looking up, I took in at a glance my twin’s countenance. Fi wore an “I told you so” expression, seemingly quite smug, but underneath I could sense her disquiet. I bit my lip. Both Fi and Gabriel were uneasy about Louis’ presence and the danger it posed to me.

  But instead of feeling panic and despair as I expected to, I felt an overwhelming anger. And suddenly I knew what I had to do.

  I was tired of St. John feeling that he needed to protect me. Our relationship, the quest, my future – all balanced precariously on a knife’s edge. I was the Wise One. And it was time to start acting it.

  I would need to learn to channel my visions to control them.

  I would need to learn to read the language of Babel marking the Seed and understand how to interpret it.

  And I would need to better my skills at navigation if I was to guide the Keeper to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon and, through it, to gain access to the Garden of Eden.

  ‘Oh no! No way!’ Fi exclaimed, startling me out of my reverie. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, we ought to wait for St. John.’

  ‘What?’ I asked bewildered, looking across at Fi’s worried countenance.

  ‘I know that look on your face, Sage. Whatever you’re planning, it won’t wash,’ she cautioned. Rising to admonish me, she dislodged Indy’s head from her lap and came to stand in front of the desk, her hands planted on her hips.

  I snorted in response. ‘If you know that look on my face as you claim, it’s because you see it every day in the mirror. Besides, I don’t intend to do anything worse than a bit of hiking so that I can improve my sense of direction and navigating.’

  Fi’s eyes narrowed; her hazel gaze steady upon my face. Presumably she was looking for flaws in my logic.

  ‘I still don’t like it,’ she said shortly. ‘You know what they say, don’t you?’

  ‘What? Use a GPS?’ I asked confused, staring up at her.

  ‘No, as whatshisname said, “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”’

  I rolled my eyes, an edge to my voice as I spoke. ‘Alexander Pope, Fi, and the fools he was criticising were the literary critics of the day.’

  ‘All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t act rashly,�
� she said with the same edge to her voice.

  ‘I won’t. I’m not,’ I replied, but somehow I couldn’t quite keep the doubt from creeping in to my voice. I repeated my earlier thoughts to her, ‘Besides, I’m meant to be the Wise One, so I’d better start acting like it.’

  Fi sighed, muttering under her breath, ‘Fine, but don’t blame me when your angel is mad at you for placing yourself in danger. If he only knew what you were planning...’

  I could tell that Fi still remained sceptical about the existence of Nephilim by her tone and that made her doubly irritating right now.

  ‘But he doesn’t,’ I said with a degree of exasperation, ‘and I can’t be expecting St. John to rescue me every time there’s a little danger. I’m not some damsel in distress, Fi.’

  ‘Well, fine,’ Fi responded dryly, ‘if you’re so intent on killing yourself then I’d better come with you.’

  I jumped up from the desk, dropping the stapler to hug her. ‘Thanks, Fi. I knew you’d come round.’

  Fi disentangled herself from my embrace, heading towards the door. ‘I’m not doing this simply so you can prove to yourself you’re the Wise One, Sage. I figure someone ought to be around to identify your body.’

  ‘I don’t intend for a Rephaim to kill me, Fi!’ I called after her retreating back.

  Her voice drifted back to me from beyond the doorway, ‘I wasn’t talking about Louis, Sage. I was talking about your fiancé.’

  ‘He’s not my fiancé,’ I automatically denied, but Fi was either too far away or unwilling to respond to my protest.

  My intention was to begin putting my plan in action at the first available opportunity. Several days passed quickly in succession without incident and I was surprised how easily I could slip back into normalcy as if I had never even been to Paris or Rome. My new routine was to slip out of the house early in the morning to venture on the trails in the forest near the Manor House with Fi and Indy accompanying me. Twice already I had managed to get us lost and, if it weren’t for Fi’s extraordinary sense of direction, a search and rescue mission might have been mounted by the local authorities to find us wandering in the woods if my parents had ever realised we were missing. As it was, we were careful to keep our hikes a secret, made easier as Jasmine and Alex were still confined to the sickroom. But I doubted whether I would improve in my skills before they improved in their health.