‘Is it safe?’ I watched with macabre fascination as Drakeforth lifted the fronds of his flowing beard and let them drift from his fingers.
‘Quite safe. Though he should not drive for several hours.’
With Hoptoad’s help, I got Drakeforth kneeling among the other worshippers. Hoptoad left us to move around the spiral, walking ever closer to the central point.
Once there he turned in a full circle and greeted with the congregation as he had done in our first visit. ‘I am with us. I am within all of us. I am the clothes we wear. The food we eat. The water we drink. I am all of us. I was, I am and I will be.’
The door to the collider burst open and armed agents of Godden came jogging in, splitting off and taking up positions around the wall.
Chapter 14
Hoptoad continued his sermon, ignoring the interruption. The congregation regarded the new arrivals with interest and when the black-suited guards did nothing beyond moving into position around the chamber walls, they turned their attention back to Hoptoad.
I kept my head down, afraid that even under the disguise of wig and beard, someone might recognise me. Not that I recognised any of them. They all wore the same black uniform; even their faces looked cast from the same small set of genetic dice.
‘We are aware,’ an agent’s voice echoed around the collider hall, ‘that there are two among you whom we seek. They will be found. The future cannot be stopped.’
Hoptoad’s gaze dropped to the floor. ‘Thank you for joining us. The future is concurrent with the present and the past. We accept that all things are happening simultaneously.’
‘Everyone will stand, everyone will be examined,’ the agent announced. We dutifully rose to our feet in silence. None of the Arthurians seemed at all outraged or even mildly concerned by the invasion. To my left, Drakeforth started giggling.
The agents moved down the line of the faithful, tugging on beards. This elicited a grunt from the men whose facial hair was a natural feature and a patient arch of the eyebrows from the women who wore their beards on elastic strings. I watched with growing unease as they worked their way towards us. The Collider hall was silent, except for the ping-snap of elastic cord and Drakeforth’s barely contained snort-giggles.
I tensed, ready to bolt, to grab Drakeforth and run. It didn’t matter where, or how far we would get. The important thing was to not just stand here and wait for the inevitable discovery. I reached out and took Drakeforth’s arm as the Goddens advanced down the line towards us.
‘I get it,’ Drakeforth announced. I stared at him in shock. He was going to get us caught for sure. Drakeforth pushed his way forward, passing between the spiral rows of Arthurians towards Hoptoad.
‘In fact I get it so much I have something to say.’ Drakeforth reached the centre of the chamber. The agents of Godden paused in their search and watched him.
‘I am Arthur,’ Drakeforth said.
‘I am all of us. I was, I am and I will be,’ Hoptoad intoned.
‘Yes, yes,’ Drakeforth waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’m Arthur,’ he said again.
‘That is an interesting claim,’ Hoptoad said.
‘It’s the only answer that makes any sense,’ Drakeforth replied.
‘Can you prove it?’ said one of the faithful from the curving spiral of the assembled.
‘If you require proof, you lack the faith required to accept the truth and are not ready to have the truth revealed to you,’ Drakeforth said. The gathered worshippers began to murmur, discussing this point with their neighbours.
‘It is said Arthur shall return to us in the form of a wheel of cheese!’ another dissident called out from the back.
‘No, he shall appear in the mathematics of the perfect equation!’ someone else countered.
‘A sunflower!’
‘A thought shared by all those who believe at the same instant!’
‘A flock of talking gnats!’
‘A whisper!’
‘A shout!’
‘A giant burning moose!’
The voices came from all points of the room, everyone calling out what they felt to be the truth of the return of Arthur. His cryptic Tellings had been interpreted and defined over the centuries and it seemed that no one had ever come to the same conclusion.
They fell to arguing; voices were raised and hands too. Drakeforth stood in the centre of this maelstrom. Hoptoad, waiting with his usual impassive calm, stood beside him.
‘I am Arthur,’ Drakeforth repeated, his voice booming from the sweet spot in the chamber’s carefully designed acoustics to smother the fire of dogmatic debate flaring around him.
‘When will we ascend?’ someone cried.
‘What lies beyond this perception?’ someone else asked.
‘Why can we not know a sub-atomic particle’s position and its direction of travel at the same time?’
Drakeforth raised his hands, and the roar of voices faded.
‘It’s really not that important,’ he declared. The room fell into absolute silence for several heartbeats, and then with a roar the crowd surged forward. Angry voices shouted and the commands of the agents of Godden were lost in the cacophony. I struggled against the flood of people, lost my footing and was swept along in the crush of the mob. I heard shouts, screams and the rip of Drakeforth’s robes being shredded by the suddenly offended devotees of the Art.
What happened next felt like a puff of wind and a push by a giant hand. The air shimmered and we flew backwards, sliding across the polished floor like brown-robed hockey pucks.
Only Drakeforth remained, stripped to his underwear, the bandage on his shoulder wound torn away, the skin underneath bruised but cleanly stitched.
‘Naughty,’ he warned. The Arthurians collected themselves. There were no more angry shouts or demands for answers. They stared at Drakeforth and then slowly, in ones and twos, began to kneel at the points around the spiral, waiting for him to share his all-encompassing wisdom. I stood alone in stunned surprise.
‘Are you seriously telling us that you are a god?’ I called over the heads of the faithful.
‘Of course not. Gods don’t exist,’ Drakeforth called back. ‘I never expected anyone to take what I said seriously. Mostly it was just made up.’
‘Made up? Made up? What in the highbrow helix were you making up such confusing twaddle for?’ I lifted the hem of my robe and marched through the kneeling crowd.
‘To impress girls, mostly. They love a guy who sounds profound,’ Drakeforth said with a shrug.
‘An entire religion exists around everything Arthur is supposed to have said! Now you turn up, reveal yourself to the faithful and say, sorry you bunch of charcoal briquettes, but you’ve got it all wrong?’
‘Well …’ Drakeforth began.
‘The answer to one of the most important philosophical questions in history. The debate that has cost thousands of lives, changed the course of history over fifteen centuries and caused the indoctrination of entire cultures and it was all so you could pick up chicks?’ I asked, incredulous.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite that way,’ he said.
‘Arthurianism has answered a lot of questions for a lot of people. It has led many of them to live long, peaceful and ultimately fulfilled lives,’ Hoptoad said.
‘You cannot be taking this seriously?’ I asked Hoptoad.
‘Arthur was, is and shall be. We observe and by doing so shape reality. Arthur is among us,’ the old monk said.
‘You complete bunch of grass-chewers,’ I said. ‘Why does a guy announcing himself as Arthur returned make any difference?’
‘No one has ever made that declaration before,’ Hoptoad said. ‘Only Arthur himself would claim to be Arthur returned. Therefore, he is.’
‘Fine! I’m Arthur! I am among you!’ I raised my arms and turned to face the crowd.
‘Now you’re just being silly,’ Hoptoad chided.
‘Those are the two we want,’ an agent declared. ‘Seize them.’ The s
trangely identical agents of Godden stepped forward.
‘And just how are you going to get us out of this situation, Arthur?’ I asked, backing away from the advancing agents.
The Arthurians stood and moved together, until they stood shoulder to shoulder, each blocking the advance. ‘Hold on to yourselves,’ Hoptoad said. I opened my mouth to ask why when the floor under my feet vanished. We dropped like three stones, my fake beard flying up and obscuring the view. I hit my head on something hard, the stars flared briefly and I passed out.
Chapter 15
‘Ouch,’ summed up my feelings perfectly. ‘Ouch,’ I said again and tried to sit up. Sometime later consciousness returned for a second attempt.
‘Easy does it,’ Drakeforth said. His hands guided me into a sitting position. ‘Here, drink this.’ The warm liquid smelled like tea, but tasted of mint and citrus essence. I felt better after each sip.
‘What happened?’ I asked, taking in the oddly clinical room. Each surface had the silver sheen of surgical steel. A row of gurneys lay empty, except for the one I was sitting on. ‘Am I in hospital?’
‘Not quite,’ Hoptoad said, coming into view.
‘You aren’t going to believe what this place is,’ Drakeforth said. I noticed he was dressed in monks’ robes again. Like me, he had lost the wig and beard.
‘It’s not the afterlife?’ I asked.
‘Almost,’ Drakeforth grinned. ‘We should get moving. It won’t be long before the Goddens work out how to get to us.’
I made it to my feet with minimal assistance. The room swayed slightly, but I felt no worse than I usually did. We left the silver room with its empty gurneys through a pair of swinging doors. The next room contained a single bed-sized platform with a cushioned headrest under what looked like a large telescope, the end of which vanished into a spaghetti network of pipes and ducts in the ceiling.
‘And that is?’ I left the question hanging.
‘A long story,’ Hoptoad replied. The lights here were empathically powered. They came on as we walked and glowed down on us with genuine warmth.
‘Wait, Arthurians don’t use empathic technology.’ I squinted at the shining globes in the ceiling.
‘A very long story,’ Hoptoad clarified. ‘We really should hurry.’ He exited the room through a second set of doors. We almost jogged down a short, metal-lined hallway, my head pounding harder with each step. Another set of swinging doors and we found ourselves on the edge of a concrete-floored loading bay. The fresh night air blowing in through the open doorway helped ease the drumbeat in my skull.
‘This is as far as I can take you,’ Hoptoad said. ‘The road to the monastery is at the end of this trail. Be sure to turn left at the first intersection. Miss Pudding, you can make your own way down to the highway from there. Oh and please, take this with my compliments, a reminder of our perception of the time we have shared.’ He handed me a jar of goosefat marmalade.
‘What about Drakeforth?’ I asked, taking the jar and discovering I didn’t have any pockets in my Arthurian robe.
‘The Lord Arthur will stay here, of course. We have so much to discuss. So much for him to explain and clarify. I fear it may take more time than I have in my life to work through it all.’
‘You can’t be serious?’ I asked.
‘Of course he is serious,’ Drakeforth said. ‘Hoptoad, my most deluded and faithful servant. I need you to do something for me.’
‘Of course, Arthur,’ Hoptoad bowed slightly, his beard tips sweeping the concrete floor.
‘Continue the great work you are doing,’ Drakeforth said. ‘Share the ancient wisdom of my Tellings with all those who come seeking it. Continue to grow prize-winning vegetables, free-range livestock and herbs both culinary and medicinal. Embrace the past, present and future, for they are all happening simultaneously.’
‘Of course,’ Hoptoad dipped again. ‘With your guidance—’
‘Arthur is retiring,’ Drakeforth interrupted. ‘You guys will have to work it out on your own. Just as you have done for the last fifteen centuries.’
‘I … oh … as you command, Arthur,’ Hoptoad said. Frowning, he turned to go back the way we had come.
‘Hoptoad,’ I called after him.
‘Yes?’ he said with a guilty start.
‘Would it not make more sense for us to hide out down here until the GEC have gone? Then we can use the patchouli oil on the desk to find out why they want it so badly?’
‘Faith tends to shy away from closer inspection. By its very definition, faith requires the suspension of empirical evidence. Arthurians are fortunate in that we have a great deal of empirical and theoretical evidence to support our faith. Which means, we don’t actually have any faith in our belief system. What we have is knowledge, and knowledge can be a very dangerous thing.’ Hoptoad half-waved and started towards the swinging doors that led back inside.
‘What has that got to do with anything?’ I asked, stepping after him.
Hoptoad stopped and sighed. ‘In summary, the greater the distance between you and the desk, the less knowledge you will have and the safer we will all be.’
‘But we brought it here to discover its secret. With patchouli oil,’ I reminded him.
‘It would be better for everyone if the desk was broken up and its individual parts burned,’ Hoptoad said with a sorrowful expression.
‘You cannot be serious?’ I would have laughed, but Hoptoad’s face was grim.
‘Go home, Miss Pudding. You have brought the desk here. We Arthurians alone can accept the responsibility of understanding, as we have always done.’
I looked to Drakeforth for support, but he appeared to be fascinated with the way his hands moved and wasn’t paying attention to the conversation at all.
‘I will be back for that desk! I will find out the truth!’ I realised I sounded like Drakeforth when he was in a rant. I shot him a glance and was dismayed to see that he had pinched his lips between two fingers and was now stretching them out to peer at them down his nose.
Hoptoad walked away, leaving us standing in the cool, pine-scented air.
‘We should get started,’ I said. ‘It’s a long walk to the highway.’ I started across the loading bay towards the open doors.
Drakeforth released his face. ‘We aren’t going to walk. We are going to ride.’
I looked around. The empty loading bay had room, I guessed, for no more than a pair of trucks. It seemed this was where the monastery took delivery of the few essential supplies they couldn’t make themselves. The only odd thing I could see were the large steel tanks off to one side.
‘What are you seeing that I’m not?’ I asked.
Drakeforth started violently, one arm swinging in a wide arc before settling in a point at the steel tanks. ‘The pressure gauges on those tanks are showing they are at capacity,’ he declared.
‘Yes,’ I nodded.
He executed another stumbling half turn. ‘The clipboard manifest hanging on the wall behind us shows that they are emptied at the same time every month.’
‘It does?’ I turned to look.
‘And …’ Drakeforth let the weight of a dramatic pause build, ‘Hoptoad told me that the tanker truck would be here any minute.’
‘You really are Arthur returned,’ I said dryly. We took up a position inside the hallway doors at the back of the loading bay. A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence while I racked my brain for ideas on how to get the desk back and secure a sufficient quantity of patchouli oil without being noticed by either the Arthurians or the Godden Energy Corporation. My mental design of a complex operation involving helium balloons, a croquet team and a dozen orange-glazed hams was interrupted as the headlights of a truck filled the loading bay.
We peered through the doors as the tanker turned around and backed in. A man in fastidiously clean white overalls jumped from the cab. He unfastened a heavy hose from underneath the truck chassis, carried it over to the closest tank and twisted it into a pu
mp socket. We heard the hissing rush of something transferring as the pipe swelled and twitched with the pressure of the flow.
‘Go,’ Drakeforth whispered. We slipped through the doors. Crouching low, we scuttled around the other side of the truck. I reached up and opened the cab door. Seeing it was clear, I climbed up and slid over to the driver’s seat. Drakeforth clambered up after me.
‘Let’s go,’ he whispered.
‘Wait…’ I hunkered down and watched the driver in the side mirror. He closed the tank valve and unscrewed the connection. I waited for him to finish stowing the hose back under the truck before I pressed the starter. The engine shuddered and hummed into life.
‘Oi!’ the driver shouted. We ignored him and a moment later the truck rolled out into the turning area outside.
‘Hoptoad said the painkillers they gave me have some side effects.’
‘You seem to be doing okay,’ I replied, my focus on the narrow road.
Drakeforth gave me a puzzled look. ‘I was talking to the camel.’
I fastened my seatbelt as we picked up speed and soon enough we reached the intersection. I remembered Hoptoad’s instructions: left to head down the monastery road towards the highway, right to go back up the hill to the monastery. I stopped.
‘Left!’ Drakeforth blurted, looking in the side mirror for signs of pursuit.
‘The little man and the blonde with a knife, they’re still tied up in the back of the moving truck,’ I said.
‘And?’ Drakeforth asked, clearly feeling no sympathy for either of them.
‘They might be in danger. Who knows what the agents of Godden will do to them.’ I hesitated for another second.
‘If they are in fact in the employ of Godden, then I expect they will be given a cup of tea and authorisation to shoot us on sight,’ Drakeforth said.
‘Imagine never knowing for sure,’ I said, the truck vibrating beneath us without moving.
‘Imagine regretting your decision to find out for the brief time we are incarcerated by Pretense before the desk is destroyed or locked up forever.’ Drakeforth seemed to be sobering up.
Engines of Empathy (Drakeforth Series Book 1) Page 13