by Eytan Kollin
“Sit in silence?” asked Polly.
“He will seek an inward retirement so that he may open himself to the voice of God,” Ben replied. “Quakers believe that if they are sufficiently still, the Holy Spirit will guide them in all matters. He must follow the path he feels God is guiding him to take. He must not act in his own will, but instead he must be obedient to the guidance he is given. We must respect his faith.”
“Fine, but I don’t need to sit in silence.” Polly jabbed a finger into the papers. “We must stop them, King and all.”
The
Collinson Home
Ridgeway House,
Mill Hill, Middlesex
January 13th
34
Let's Save the World
It was several hours before Peter returned. Mary kept Polly and Ben well-fed and well-watered with fresh breads and cheeses complemented by the Collinson house favorite, lemon water. With the late hour, tea had also been offered. Everything in the home was warm and inviting, from the smells of the baking breads to the cozy drafts of the fire and the fragrances of the indoor flora. Mary had further engaged them both by bringing a chess set into her husband’s study and sitting with them for a couple games. Late that night, when Peter opened the door, both Polly and Ben looked up from their game with a start, and then turned to him expectantly.
“I have listened to the Holy Spirit, and I have spoken at some length with my wife. I feel quite clear. The way forward is assisting in preventing the planned calamity, but I am afraid that I cannot take part in an action that will lead to violence. I cannot support it,” Peter said.
“You’re saying we should give in to their evil plans?” Polly demanded.
“I am afraid you do not yet quite understand the Quaker mindset, Polly,” Ben interjected. “If I may illuminate,” he asked looking at Peter, who nodded his consent as he took a seat next to them. “He cannot join with the King’s faction because he would be supporting actions that would very likely lead to the harm and death of many people. It would be the same whether he voted for a military appropriation or stabbed a man to death personally. Quakers don’t hold much with doing things by halves, and even peripherally engaging in violent action would violate his deeply held convictions. That does not mean there aren’t other things he could do, by way of opposition, as long as it didn’t devolve to violence.”
Peter nodded, “I do find myself at a crossroads, but my time of private retirement has eased my sense of burden somewhat. I am prepared to see what aid I can offer to this effort to prevent the downfall of everything familiar.”
Ben turned to Peter. “You could just withdraw from this affair. I think the King’s faction would not be concerned if you simply stepped aside. He held the Royal Society in less than high esteem.”
Peter held up his hand. “I know that I must oppose this group. They would use this force of magic to warp and weave the will of men. They are turning away from the Light, turning against the will of God. Whether a man is deprived of free will via a court, shackle, lash, or magic, such are of this world and not of God. They must be opposed, for I must oppose both the physical enslavement of the children of God and their magical enslavement as well.” He paused and looked troubled. “Oppose without resorting to violence against another, of course.”
“How are we to even consider doing this without violence?” Polly asked.
“By being strong. By choosing the path that God guides us to take.”
Polly stared absently, chewing her lip, deep in thought.
“Of course, Peter,” Ben said, speaking to his long-time friend. “I suspected as much from you. You would not shy away from a task no matter how great the danger or how terrible the power that opposed you. No one will ask you to violate your convictions. It is that very strength that is one of the qualities I admire the most about you. You will stand fast before any power that seeks to harm.”
“Power is not all that troubles me, Ben. Nor is it all that should trouble you. Understand what we would embark upon. Shall we stand against the Throne? This is the Throne we have been loyal to our entire lives, unquestioningly up to this point.”
Ben regarded both Peter and Polly, then said, “I’m loyal to the Throne. Always. I’m only loyal to the King when he deserves my loyalty. He is the one that betrayed the Throne and the land, not us.”
“I concur.” Peter nodded. “Just as a church is not God, the King is not the Throne.”
Ben looked and saw they were all in agreement. “Well good, then. All we have to do now is invent a way to oppose a secret and powerful organization armed with both vast political power and legal authority, as well as potent magics we know little of. We will need to do this not understanding the scope of their power, the precise outline of their plans, or the resources they will be able to bring to bear.”
Polly cleared her throat. “Is it that hard? They need the star metal to perform the ritual, according to the journals. If we want to avoid violence and confrontation—”
“I have no problem with confrontation. Only with violence,” Peter interrupted.
“Yes, well,” Polly continued, “be as that may, if there is confrontation, it could lead to violence, so better to avoid it. So, as I was saying, why don’t we figure out where all the artifacts are and just steal them?”
“As easy as that?” Peter mused.
“As easy as that, Mr. Collinson. Right, Ben?”
“I believe we have the beginnings of a plan. And about two months to execute it.” Ben raised his lemon water high, “To magic and treason.”
“To God, the Truth and the Light,” Peter responded, lifting his glass as well.
“Let’s save the world,” said Polly.
Part 3:
A Bell
About a Bell, which must be rung,
that a new world may be born.
1759
The
Night of the Comet
March 13th
Kensington Palace
London, England
35
Funny You Should
Say That
“I’m not sure, Mr. Collinson.” Polly Stevenson and Peter Collinson walked toward Kensington Palace with the moon high overhead. They had left Craven Street a little less than an hour before. Most of their journey had been in silence, but as they were drawing close to their destination, Polly finally initiated conversation. “It seems foolhardy to split up. I know we’ve been searching London for weeks with no results but . . . Just like a game of chess, we need to attack the center of the board.”
“Three thoughts come to mind: the first being that the King is the center, and it would be foolhardy to attack the King.” Peter turned to Polly. “The second being that we have two people capable of performing magic, three final locations, and one night. Those are not good odds. The third, and final, being that if we were all in one place and something went wrong, then there would be no one to continue the efforts. I’m not the chess player that you are, but the weakness in playing against a superior opponent and simply attacking the center is that it is what one always does. Doing what one always does is too predictable, and I can only think that the reason that they are so confident is because they are waiting for the attack to the center. When you are cleverer at people than deep strategy, you learn that you can interchange them.”
Polly glanced sidelong at Peter. “Funny you should say that. That is how I insulted William the first week the Franklins lodged with us.”
“It’s not meant as an insult. And from that, I take it you play the player as much as the board?”
She nodded.
“Then let’s look at it this way—King George and his cadre, especially Thomas Penn, understand exactly how Ben thinks. As clever as he is, as sociable, and as well as he normally navigates politics, Penn has been far ahead of him every step of the way. So, by avoiding the way that Ben thinks, we are shifting tactics. Our strategy cannot change, but our tactics can. We will go to the le
ft, as they expect Ben to go to the right.” Peter pointed up. “We’re out of time. The comet is overhead.”
“Yes, and, is that the palace?” Polly pointed ahead as a great lawn opened before them, with gardens to either side and wrapping around the palace to the rear. The palace itself was a three-story monstrosity that had numerous wings and over one hundred rooms. She gulped. “This place is larger than all of Craven Street combined. I believe that is the servants’ building over there.”
“Indeed it is.” Peter peered at a small sketched map, then folded it up and placed back in his jacket pocket. “Shall we?”
As Peter and Polly made their way to an entrance on the far side of the second set of apartments, between the main building and the far lodge, Polly began making her calculations, obscuring them from the vision of anyone who may be watching. It wasn’t enough that they were being silent. They couldn’t risk discovery at all, so once they were close, she used a glamour to hide them completely from the servants and guards, though they could see each other. They listened to the general chatter.
One of the older maids chatted amiably with a bored looking footman, “I know the King has let the place go a bit, but it has only been since his good wife Queen Caroline departed this Earth that he has been this way. I think they should let a man have his grief and not harp on him for this and that.”
They snuck past the two, only to turn a corner to another conversation.
“Mistress, I know. It’s the wildling. He frightens me. Why allow the man-beast to roam here? The thing is touched by the fairies. I thought it was supposed to be at the farms. It gives me the creeps.”
“Pah. Superstition. The thing was cursed, but the devil’s been cast out of it. They gave it a good Christian name. Peter, they calls it now. Avoid it, and it’ll avoid you, I’m sure the King’ll move it back as soon as he’s noticed it’s wandered back to the palace.”
They moved on. There were a few near-misses when people nearly ran into them, or when Peter Collinson accidentally knocked something, that made things a little nerve-wracking, but soon Polly saw what they were looking for: a well-dressed lady’s maid purposefully striding by with a freshly laundered gown carefully draped across her arms.
Polly gestured to Peter silently, and they began following her. When a housemaid came too close, the young woman sternly commanded, “Aus meinem Weg, Bauer.”
As they passed, the housemaid pulled a face behind the back of the lady’s maid and muttered, “Damm’d Germans.”
Peter nodded emphatically to Polly, and they continued on their way. They exited the servants’ lodge and walked across the gardens to the main house. Finally, the lady’s maid led them to an apartment in the private residences at the palace. They followed her into a dressing room, where she set out the dress carefully and was turning to go when they all heard a commanding voice. “Friedegunde, was hast du getan? Verlassen! Aus!”
Friedegunde gave a little squeak, and with a rapid curtsy, said “Entschuldigung, Gräfin Amalie Sophie, Entschuldigung, Bitte,” and scampered as quickly as she could from the room.
“Ich weiß, dass du hier bist, kleine Maus. Wo sind sie? Oder bist du eine englische Maus? I will not have my private rooms invaded so rudely. Who are you? Jetzt!” A woman walked into the room wearing a long yellow gown and carrying a small black terrier. She had piercing black eyes and long brown hair that framed soft features.
Polly put her finger to her lips and indicated to Peter to go look for the artifacts. She then uncloaked herself, curtsying deeply, “My lady Countess, my name is Mary. I am seeking a great sorceress. I felt there was one here, and my seeking led me to you. I was hoping you would take time. Talk to me. I mean, take time to talk to me!”
Amalie Sophie Marianne von Wallmoden, Countess of Yarmouth stood regally, slowly petting her terrier and regarding Polly, “Really? Why would I do any such thing?”
Polly came out of her curtsy. “There are so few of us. I had hoped you would be able to teach me. I would apprentice myself to you and provide whatever assistance you require.”
Amalie Sophie’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Gib mir deine stärke, Teiwaz.” She snuggled her dog into the crook of her right arm and pointed at Polly with her left. “I am not much interested in teaching vagabonds to rise above their station. Nor am I interested in talking with little liars who are trying to deceive me.” She snapped her fingers.
Polly rocked back as the invisible slap reddened her cheek.
“Now truthfully, girl, why are you here?”
Polly froze, then carefully let tears spring from her eyes. “Forgive me, Countess. I just thought, maybe, I just thought—”
“You thought what? That I couldn’t tell the difference between a girl with homespun talent from someone who rises with the comet? That I wouldn’t be offended by lies?” She snapped her fingers again, and the terrier began to growl.
Polly braced herself just in time, but the second slap still stung.
“Please stop, Countess.” Polly rubbed at her cheek.
“One does not stand before the storm and beg it to stop, Wicht.” She started throwing her hand forward snapping her fingers in rapid succession. With each snap, another blow landed on Polly. “When the storm rises, you run.”
Polly crossed her arms in front of her face, taking the pounding for the moment. She saw in her peripheral vision when Peter returned, shaking his head.
“And don’t think,” Amalie Sophie said, “I am so ignorant as to think you are here alone!” She raised her hand and snapped as Polly began a series of rapid calculations and the air between the two women shimmered. Peter watched on helplessly, as even he could feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The Countess looked directly at him. “Die Hölle?? Who are you?”
The door crashed open and a man unlike anything Peter or Polly had ever seen crashed into the room. He had curly black hair and wide features, looking like he belonged in the wild, not in a castle. He wore a green jacket and no shirt, but a wide, dirty leather collar bound his neck. “George! George! George!” he screeched.
The Countess held up a hand, fingers splayed. Heat shimmered and sparks danced along the barrier between the two mages. “Hush, Peter, my little Wild Boy. It is aright. You are safe.”
Collinson watched, stunned, and Polly kept trying to break the barrier as the wildling jumped in place, shouting George’s name.
An irritated Countess looked at Polly, “I don’t have time for this, and now you have robbed me of my chance to be properly dressed for this evening, du Nagetier!” Then Amalie Sophie Marianne von Wallmoden, Countess of Yarmouth, mistress to the King of England, sent a blast at Peter the Wild Boy, sending him flying into the two intruders. She sped to the closet door and went through it with her little terrier in tow.
Polly raced to the door as the scared wildling rolled himself away and huddled, but when she opened it, she saw only a closet for gowns and no exit. “Lobc—” Polly turned to Peter the Wild Boy and froze, addressing Peter the Quaker. “Um. I can’t believe it. She has a Manydoor. Overton taught me about these things. I might be able to figure out how to work it, but what do we do with him?”
Collinson walked up to the wilding, unafraid. He stroked the man’s hair, calming him. “It’s okay. I know who you are. I know Dr. Arbuthnot. He helped the men from the Royal Society. Do you remember? You got to eat cake.”
Peter the Wild Boy nodded.
Collinson smiled warmly. “Good. Can you go to the kitchens and get food? Are you hungry?”
The wildling nodded uncertainly but seemed calmed as he left.
Peter turned to the amazed Polly. “I believe you were going to figure out how that woman vanished?”
She nodded mutely and turned to the closet door, studying the portal.
The White Tower,
Tower of London
London, England
36
Tonight Was the Night
The night was eerily silent, brightened by the moon a
nd the comet overhead. It rained gently, despite the lack of clouds in the sky. Myrddin was afraid. It was an odd sensation. It wasn’t that he didn’t have every right to be afraid, or any reason. Over the years he had witnessed and endured events that had, until today, largely disconnected him from that emotion. He had never thought the world a friendly place. People were bastards. They used each other, they hurt each other. He would have called it all long ago, and just been done with the human race, except that amid the deepest perfidies, he found people overcoming them with compassion and self-sacrifice.
Life was—complex.
And now he found himself afraid not for himself but for the world. It was a tord place to be, but no one else was going to stand up and try to save everyone. There was also a deeper truth that, in the tiniest of ways, all this might have been his unwitting fault. He didn’t know if he was going to succeed, after all these centuries of planning and effort, but it was time to step out of the shadows regardless. He was out of time and so, perhaps, was the world.
Funny how the mind works, he thought, living in the past when it’s afraid it’s going to be snuffed out in the present.
He had fought on ancient battlefields with swords swinging and arrows flying. Starting with Harold Godwinson, he had watched kings, queens, cities, and nations rise and fall. He had seen many more thousands perish in the natural course of events, felled by disease, accident, old age. All in the normal order of things, a normal order of chaos and greed and selfishness. And because of this cursed star metal, he had lived through it all, a poor soldier who watched his own king slaughtered. He shivered, pulling his cloak tighter.