Kingdom

by Andy Tilley

  Something is indeed stirring inside and its influence is emerging ever faster.

  Chapter 18

  I’m impressed.

  On the edge of the Peak District, nestling within sweeping moorland, Lyme Park is a magnificent estate. Lyme Hall lies at the heart of this splendor and makes my country pile look like one of those mock Georgian suburban new builds. The satnav announced that its duties were complete and that we had arrived at our destination well over a mile ago. From the moment that I entered through wrought iron gates (twice the height of those protecting Hartford Manor) the drive had been uphill and on a well maintained tarmac road that curls upwards through beautifully managed woods and parkland. Occasionally I glimpse small groups of red deer grazing amongst the oak and elm. The hunting here must be magnificent but it couldn’t possibly be as awesome as the breathtaking setting of the manor house itself which ambushes me as I drive over a final crest. The building’s eighteenth century façade is an Italianate palace, chiseled from limestone so clean and crisp that if someone were to tell me that it had been cast only this morning from the finest alabaster I wouldn’t have questioned them. Lyme Hall shines, veils itself in a mystical shroud spun from a mist that lingers still on the surface of the lake lying before it and which the edifice seems to float upon. Unicorns would not look out of place here.

  ‘My my Jack Noble, you have done well for yourself haven’t you.’

  Or has he. My heart sinks as I see the sign; Lyme Hall Mental Institution.

  The lady in reception is impeccably dressed and extremely well spoken. There is no doubt that is a private facility, right at the top end of the mental health care spectrum so I guess that Jack’s family still have money, enough at least to stick their benefactor here out of harms way. I wonder if it was Setantii that drove his mind over the edge and dumped him here in a Wonderland.

  ‘Chevalier, Cristian Chevalier. I’m here to visit Jack Noble.’

  ‘Okay. And is he expecting you Mr Chevalier?’

  ‘Er no, no he isn’t. I’m actually not related either, just a friend. But do you think he will see me?’

  ‘Well let’s find out shall we.’

  The phone is already in her hand and soon answered. So efficient.

  ‘Hi Barbara, it’s Amanda at reception. Do you have Jack with you at the moment? Oh you do, right. I have a gentleman here to see him, Mr Chevalier. He doesn’t have an appointment but he….okay fine. I’ll send him down.’

  Amanda puts down the phone, smiles and informs me that Jack is in the old orangery and that if I follow signs for the ‘Sunshine Room’ I will easily find it. I do. Barbara is already waiting there to briefly introduce herself as she opens the door. The space we enter is exactly as the name suggests; a room filled with sunshine. Its high glass ceiling, supported by stone columns framing rows of floor length sash windows, pushes back on the sky. The far wall (at least one hundred feet away) is built solidly until it reaches shoulder height where the rest of the gable end is completed with more pillars and panes. Around the entire room a wire safety mesh has been screwed to the bottom six feet of each glazed section but its relatively open weave doesn’t deter the glass from scooping buckets of light into a space that in its conception had been filled with trees and plants from all parts of the globe. Today the light pours onto a far less romantic collection of vegetation; rotten human minds that are either ambling around or sitting at tables, occasionally standing to look through a window and wonder at the world outside. I shake my head, reluctant to follow the nurse and convinced that this is a complete waste of my time that should be spent dissecting my dilemma, not sympathizing with a crazy man whose brain has been fried by a silkie’s scorn.

  ‘This way Mr Chevalier. You’ll be quite safe I can assure you. The mesh is only there to prevent accidents, stop the patients from hurting themselves.’

  I have no choice but to go through with this so I trudge after her. Halfway down the room she stops and waits, taking position next to another white coat that I presume is a doctor of some description. The man before me in the easy chair looks older than I expected Jack to be, in spite of his almost trendy attire; loose jeans, sandals and a tee shirt that is two sizes too large but I suppose better collects the occasional dribble form his slack mouth. Better get this charade over with so I don’t hesitate to lower myself onto my haunches, place one hand on the old fella’s knee and begin the introduction.

  ‘Hi. How are you feeling today? My name is Cristian and I, well I just wanted to talk to you about something but if…’

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  The doctor (or whatever he is) has interrupted us. I stay down but tilt my head to look up at him. He doesn’t seem angry, more confused so I stand up fully in order to better apologise for breeching whatever ‘lunatic interviewing’ protocol it is that I haven’t followed.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I was just trying to talk to Jack.’

  The man grins, more insanely than any expression I’ve seen so far today, and offers me his hand.

  ‘No you weren’t pal, but you are now! I’m Jack Noble, head psychiatrist. Now how can I help you young man?’

  I instantly like this man, although I can tell that he’s enjoying every morsel of my embarrassment. It’s this jovial, open and confident demeanor that convinces me that perhaps there’s no need for me to try and dress up what I have to say.

  ‘Please, call me Cristian. And it’s so good to finally meet you Jack. I just wish we had longer because time is short and I need to talk to you about Setantii.’

  A number of scenarios had been played out in my head during the journey here. In one Jack Noble whispers the name back to me, screams and runs for the door; in another he screams vengeance and lashes out at me; in a third he drops to his knees and simply screams. Yes, it’s true to say that Jack Noble screamed a lot in my imagination but never once did he respond to this revelation by casually placing his hand on my shoulder and uttering these words.

  ‘So it’s your turn then. You must be very excited Cristian, but with a lot of questions too I guess.’

  The place that Jack takes me to talk is a picnic area far away from the hall and surrounded by trees. This, he explains, is so that we won’t be disturbed. He jokes about how, if anyone did happen to hear us discussing silkies then we may both find ourselves booked in to the institute for a night or two. He has a point but I suspect that his main interest in this open air venue is his desire to smoke a lot.

  ‘So, what do you want to know about him Cristian.’

  The confusion in my face is wiped away as Jack explains that he is referring to Setantii.

  ‘Oh right, so I guess that you always felt that she was a he then’

  ‘Never really thought about it like that, Setantii just always felt like a father figure to me. So he, sorry I mean she, was more of a mother to you then was he? Christ this is going to get confusing! I think we should go with the mum angle for this then eh? So in your own time son, fire away.’

  Jack smiles and smokes whilst he waits for me to structure my questions. I’m surprised how difficult it is. In the car I’d been very clinical in this, certain of the things that I needed to know but I realize now that those pre-prepared questions had all been about the mechanics of things; how ascension would happen for me, how silkies lived and more importantly how they died. Answers that are still important to me of course but sat here next to another human being who has lived through my nightmare I feel compelled to discuss more fundamental, ethereal issues. Like for starters, why the hell were we chosen!

  ‘You know Cristian, I remember asking Setantii that very same thing shortly after my twenty first birthday. By then I’d all but accepted that I wasn’t actually different to other blokes my age, except for the fact that my imaginary friend turned out to be real. He told me that…sorry, she told me that she had liked my name, as simple as that. She was serious too. I had been chosen mainly because of my name.’

  ‘Jack? What’s so special abo
ut Jack?’

  ‘Not Jack you pillock, Noble! You see Setantii had reckoned that in Europe most names were a good indication of the quality of someone’s blood line and not surprisingly the name Noble had grabbed her attention. What’s your surname name again, Chevalier? Well no offence mate but that sounds pretty posh too don’t you think.’

  No offence taken; it is a posh name, inherited from a line of medieval French knights according to my father. It was as simple as that then. Big house, plenty of cash and a posh name; an irresistible combination to a silkie looking to seed. Thanks dad, but before I can fully reconcile this with the fact that Phillip King (a rather privileged boy in my junior school class) had escaped Setantii’s attention, another concern I have held for some time forces its way to the front of the queue.

  ‘And did you use it at all Jack, the silkie in you? And I don’t mean Setantii. I mean the young, undeveloped silkie growing inside. I have, or at least I think I have. For instance, there’s been a few times whilst hunting when I can clearly remember concentrating hard on an animal, walking a stag or paralyzing a rabbit to get the kill shot.’

  My confession can be the only reason for the concern that has darkened Jack’s face. He finishes stamping on a freshly killed cigarette butt and turns to me.

  ‘And what about other people Cristian? Do you think you ever reached into them and brought them under your influence or maybe just told them what to think? You mustn’t you know, very dangerous thing to play about with when you don’t know how to control it.’

  Jack immediately looks away whilst he roots in his jacket pocket for another cigarette. He isn’t interested in an answer, satisfied that he has done his bit and issued this grave warning. I’m relieved, because there would have been no denial. Three times I had whispered into a company director’s or contract manager’s mind, convinced them that the deal I offered was good for everyone. That had been over five years ago, back when I was just setting out and once I had established a name for myself and my businesses were thriving such tactics had been dropped. Dangerous it may have been but I seem to have gotten away with it. Unless…

  ‘And could this change things for me when it comes to staying human do you think Jack? I haven’t given the silkie something to grasp on to and make it more difficult for me to deny its ascension have I?’

  ‘No Cristian, it isn’t you that I’m worried about. It’s the other people. You see something like Setantii is well practiced in her art. She can flick in and out of living minds at will and take as little or as much as she desires from them. But a young, unformed silkie like the one inside you, well that’s a different story. A bit like asking a toddler to colour a picture in, stick between the lines. Oh they’ll try to be tidy but you can guarantee that the outcome will be bloody messy. And it’s the same for anyone that you tried to reached in to, only messy in this case usually means brain cancer or a stroke. Like I say, you must not do it Cristian, no matter how tempting it is.’

  Ted Mitchel; diagnosed with brain cancer three months after I took his company over. Sheila Watson; crippled by a stroke fifteen minutes into her train journey home having signed on the dotted line and committed to a four year deal to supply me with accountancy services. I actually went to Jason Turner’s funeral only last April when he finally lost his battle against cancer. Sat in the church amongst the mourners, that was when I had first considered these three individuals as a group and toyed with the idea that my manipulation of their minds had brought about their premature deaths. And do you know something, if I was to be brutally honest with myself? Completely out of character, but the overwhelming emotion I had felt at this self accusation had been total apathy. This is the really scary thing about my relationship with this swelling presence inside me;

  ‘How much of me would be taken by it then, if I give it life that is?’

  ‘Damn good question Cristian, and not an easy one to answer but if I was to take a stab at it I’d say this. I believe, and this is only my theory, that there are three states that these silkie creatures can exist in. The one inside you now is truly like a baby. It’s connected to you, sharing your thoughts through what can only be described as some cerebral equivalent of an umbilical chord. Even though your mind and soul are nourishing it, the silkie remains passive in this symbiosis. When they’re brooding, like Setantii is with you at the moment, silkies seem to be able to enter a person completely and stay there for the full term but this isn’t an aggressive take over, more of a time share deal. That’s why it can be so difficult for them to reach to this point of understanding. For some reason they seem to need the human carer to be completely aware and available to them, have to explain to their host what is going on and get them to accept what effectively will become a partnership focused on raising both the human and silkie babies together. The third state is their natural one, one in which they will spend god knows how many centuries existing. This is the fully fledged silkie, an intelligent energy form totally independent of humanity but with one exception. It’s the old energy can’t be created or destroyed chestnut and to survive and grow they must still feed. But theirs is not a material diet, because they don’t have bodies to move about or keep warm. No, the energy they crave can only be found in one place; deep within the illusive, complex, life giving vitality of a human soul.’

  Jack is brimming with passion and I’m impressed but not surprised by how eloquent and succinct his theory is. After all, this is a man who has dedicated his life to understanding the human psyche. I’m not sure I agree with his proposition that silkies value the young mothers they invade though. This isn’t a partnership of equals; preferable though it may be to get on with each other, the silkie is in control and she will take whatever she needs to make sure her offspring mature, as in May’s example when Setantii’s hand had been forced. On the whole though I like the three state theory. But Dr Jack still hasn’t answered my question.

  ‘Wow! You really have given this some thought haven’t you? But coming back to the bit about ascension as Setantii calls it. This emergence of a fledgling silkie when its gestation is complete, what happens to me if I decide to cut the umbilical and set it free into the world?’

  My enthusiasm fuels his excitement and Jack is almost garbling now in his haste to explain, animated hands not caring that they have dropped a freshly lit cig onto the floor near his feet.

  ‘Look, try not to think of it as a cutting of the chord Cristian but more like reeling it in! Or a tug of war maybe, but with you having by far the stronger grip on reality! This really is your choice Cristian. To win this all you have to do is deny it, remove the supply of energy and starve the infant silkie to death. Alternatively you can choose to succumb to it, let yourself go and….’

  Jack’s words pile to a dead stop, his train of thought jarred to a halt by something he’s seen in one of my possible futures. He bends down and collects the smoldering cigarette from the floor. It takes three more purposeful pulls on it for him to decide to finish reading my fortune.

  ‘Well too put it bluntly Cristian, you would become the silkies first meal.’

  Chapter 18

  I can know they’re here.

  Three men stood around my bed.

  Sounds and smells tell me so.