A queasy foreboding formed in the pit of Cass’ stomach. “Taken?” she asked. Turning to Mrs. Peelstick, she said, “You used the word taken just now-what does that mean?”
“I was speaking out of turn.”
Brendan stopped walking and looked around. The dusky sky had faded to inky blue, deepening the shadows on the street. They were standing outside the gate of a tiny church. A sign in English beside the gate read Chaldean Christian Church.
“Shall we go in? You deserve a full explanation, and it will be best absorbed sitting down.” He opened the gate, and they crossed the courtyard to the door of the church and stepped in.
The interior was dark and quiet, the air fragrant with spent incense. The only light came from candles, which burned at stands set up beneath particular icons around the sanctuary. To Cass it felt like entering a cave, or perhaps a womb. An altar, with a simple golden cross flanked by two enormous beeswax candles, stood at the far end of the chancel. The short pews were empty; neither priests nor worshippers were to be seen.
“I come here sometimes to think,” explained Brendan. “It is a safe place, and we won’t be disturbed. Have a seat.” He ushered Cass to a pew.
Mrs. Peelstick continued towards the front of the sanctuary; she paused, genuflected towards the altar, and then moved to a little stand set off to one side. Taking a candle from a bundle, she lit it from one of the candles already burning and placed it in the holder with the others. She bowed her head, then crossed herself and returned to where Cass and Brendan were sitting.
Cass remained silent, letting the peaceful atmosphere wash over her. After a moment, Mrs. Peelstick said, “Go on, Brendan.”
“Where to start-that is the question.” He frowned and gazed down at his clasped hands.
“Silly man!” sniffed Mrs. Peelstick. “You’re frightening the poor girl with your theatrics. If you won’t tell her outright, then I will.” Brendan nodded. “It comes to this-there are forces that do not care to see our quest succeed. They are against us, and try to thwart us whenever and wherever they can. They pose an extremely potent threat and a very real danger to life and limb.” She concluded with a grim smile. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Cass considered this. “You used the word forces just now. You mean people?”
“Human agents, yes,” replied Brendan, rousing himself once more. “But spiritual agents as well, lest we forget. As our guide Saint Paul put it, ‘For ours is not a conflict with mere flesh and blood, but with the despotisms, the empires, the forces that control and govern this dark world-the spiritual hosts of evil arrayed against us in the heavenly warfare.’”
“Now you are scaring her,” chided Mrs. Peelstick. “Honestly!”
“Do we sugarcoat it, or tell it plain?” replied Brendan. Turning once more to Cass, he said, “On the human level, our principal adversary is a man who goes by the name of Archelaeus Burleigh. He has in his hire several low thugs of varying intelligence, none to match their leader in cunning and ability. He is a clever and resourceful enemy.”
“And also, it must be said, completely ruthless,” added Mrs. Peelstick. “I have little doubt he is behind the disappearance of Cosimo and Sir Henry-assuming they have come to harm.”
“And the spiritual forces you mentioned?”
“The same as have always sought to wreak havoc on humanity and obstruct God’s good purposes in the world,” she replied in a soft voice, as if reluctant to speak aloud.
“Ancient enemies they may be, but we must never underestimate them on that account,” Brendan pointed out. “They do not grow weak and toothless in old age. Rather, they are particularly active in our special sphere of interest.” He saw Cass’ uncertain expression. ”Do you doubt this?”
“Not at all,” she answered, with more conviction than she intended. “I was just wondering why these spiritual forces you mention might have any special interest in what you’re doing?”
Brendan glanced around the church. “It is well we are talking about this here,” he said, lowering his voice. “A church is the one place they cannot eavesdrop, so to speak, on our thoughts and prayers, our plans and intentions. Remember that; it could prove helpful to you one day.”
“As to why they take a special interest,” said Mrs. Peelstick, “we believe it must be that we are probing very close to a very great spiritual breakthrough, and they know that their time is running out.”
“The transformation of the universe we talked about earlier-is that what you mean?”
“Indeed. Whatever form it takes, the fact is that opposition to our efforts has intensified out of all proportion to our somewhat meagre resources. The array of weapons against us is formidable. This leads us to believe that the quest so long and ardently pursued is nearing a critical stage.”
“The Omega Point you talked about?” said Cass.
Brendan nodded.
“And if you fail?”
Brendan spread his hands. “The world will slide back into the chaos that you see rampant around us already-wars and rumours of wars, nation against nation, brother at the throat of brother, economic instability with the rich growing ever richer and the poor suffering on a scale heretofore unimagined. But it will intensify. The universe will continue on its long, slow decline.”
“So,” concluded Cass, “Almighty God is not strong enough alone to bring about His purpose for the universe. He needs you and your society to make it happen; otherwise it has all been for nothing. Is that what you’re saying?”
Brendan only smiled. “Your cynicism is a well-honed tool.”
“I’m not cynical,” countered Cass. “Maybe a little sceptical, but believe it or not, I want to understand. I really do. I’ve experienced something that two days ago I would have said was impossible, and now here I am bouncing between Arizona and… this.” She gave a sweep of her arm to take in not only the ancient building in which they sat but the Old Quarter and city beyond. “So cut me some slack, okay? I want to believe, but you’re not making it easy.”
Brendan regarded her quietly. Mrs. Peelstick leaned nearer and said, “It is true that as a society we may be small and insignificant, weak in the face of a monstrous and powerful opposition, dwarfed by the towering magnitude of the task before us. But you know, God has always worked through the small, the insignificant, the powerless-it seems to be sewn into the very fabric of the universe.
“If you consider it for a moment,” suggested the elderly woman, “you will see that it has only ever been that way. Over and over again, we see that when anyone willingly gives whatever resources they have to Him-whether it is nothing more than five smooth stones gathered from a dry streambed or five little loaves of bread and two dried sprats-then God’s greater purpose can proceed. Small and insignificant? Undoubtedly. But on the day of decision, everything depended on those five smooth stones-with them, David killed Goliath and saved a nation.”
“Five loaves of bread became a banquet for five thousand hungry people,” Cass said thoughtfully, remembering the Bible story.
Nodding towards the front of the sanctuary where a wooden cross stood on the altar, Mrs. Peelstick concluded, “And one poor, wandering country preacher-homeless, penniless, friendless, and despised by all but a handful of no-account fishermen and a few women-gave himself so fully to God that the combined might of the two most powerful forces in his world-the Roman empire and the religious authorities-could not stop him.”
“They crushed him and killed him,” murmured Cass, gazing at the empty cross on the altar. “And look what happened.”
“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Peelstick softly, “they killed him… and look what happened.”
CHAPTER 28
In Which the Moment of Decision Arrives
Cass gazed at the simple wooden cross, pondering the depths of this sacred mystery. Five smooth stones gathered from a dry streambed changed the course of history; a nation was saved. And that other lad-given a lunch of five small loaves and a couple of dried fish
and packed off to hear the wandering rabbi preach. Before the day was half through he would provide the substance for a miracle. He had been asked to give the little he had and, in the hands of the Master, it became a feast for thousands. Did that boy suspect that would happen? No-how could he? All he knew was that he had been asked to choose which side he would serve-just as Cass was being asked now.
“What do you say, Cassandra?” asked Brendan at last. “We have told you about our work and how you can help. It is time to make a decision. Will you join us?”
Despite all the outlandish claims and untethered assumptions, all the convoluted and eccentric propositions she had heard throughout the day, Cass did feel drawn to the quest. Somewhere, in the core of her being, she knew that what she had been told was true. Still, she hesitated. Joining them meant leaving behind everything she had ever known-her life, her work, her place in the world… not to mention her father. The thought of her father waiting for her back in Arizona-frantic over her disappearance-pulled her back to reality.
“I can’t,” she sighed at last. “I can’t sign up to anything I don’t fully understand. Besides that, I have commitments elsewhere. My father, for one-he must be beside himself with worry, wondering what happened to me.”
“If I told you that you could return to the place you left within a day or so of the time you left,” offered Brendan, “would that make a difference?” He saw Cass hesitate and pressed her further. “It is true. Travellers have been known to spend years away from home only to return within a few days-or even a few hours-of their departure.”
“Well, I-”
“You could join us and still alleviate your father’s worries. Perhaps, if we-”
“Don’t badger the poor girl,” interrupted Mrs. Peelstick. “She is intelligent, reasonable, and capable of making up her own mind.” To Cass she said, “We will respect your decision, my dear, and consider that it was simply not to be. We will, of course, help you get home again.”
“Thank you,” murmured Cass. “You’ve been more than kind.”
The old woman turned and, closing her eyes, drew in a deep breath of the frankincense-laden air. “It is nice here, isn’t it? So peaceful. It is truly a shelter from the storms that rage across the world.”
The three sat for a while soaking in the serenity of the ancient church, then Brendan stood and made his way out. Mrs. Peelstick followed; stepping into the aisle, she genuflected towards the cross and then paused to wait for Cass. They met Brendan outside, and the three walked slowly back to the convent. The gate was closed, but unlocked. Cass wished them good night and entered the silent courtyard. Halfway across to the dormitory building, she shivered with a sudden chill, paused, and glanced around the courtyard-still and empty as before. Crickets chirped in the far corner, and the scent of jasmine drifted on the night air. All seemed well.
Shaking off the chill, she hurried on, pulled open the door, and shut it firmly behind her. The corridor was dark save for a single candle burning in a red glass jar on the table outside her room. She moved to the door and slipped inside, taking the light with her.
She undressed quickly and climbed into bed, but had difficulty falling asleep; for a long time she thrashed about, unable to make herself comfortable. When sleep finally came, it was troubled with odd, incoherent, and unsettling dreams. Towards morning, Cass experienced a dream that was more lucid than usual; in it, she saw herself as a little girl standing on a ledge of red Sedona sandstone looking out across the desert wasteland. In her dream, she gazed far beyond Earth’s atmosphere and into space, beyond the moon to the very edge of the solar system itself and an endless heaven filled with stars and a multitude of galaxies, all wheeling in harmony with the slow, elegant rhythm of creation. The magnificent extravagance of the display stole her breath away. She sensed that her father was there, and when she turned, she saw him dressed in a black suit with his eye pressed to the lens of an enormous telescope. “I want to see,” she said. In her dream she heard her father reply, “It is not for you.”
She turned away, and this time saw a wall of darkness at the distant edge of the cosmic horizon, far beyond the spiral arm of the Milky Way. Somehow she understood that this was not the darkness of deep space, but was instead an active and invasive darkness, expanding and growing beyond the galactic boundaries. Cass watched as this alien darkness began to seep into the cosmos and swallow the nearer stars and galaxies. Growing, expanding, gathering strength and speed, the darkness surged, and with its increase came an unmistakable feeling of malevolence-as if the darkness were driven not by a mindless force of nature but by a burning hatred as vast and limitless as its galactic reach. On and on it came, devouring everything in its path, growing, expanding with every speck and morsel of light it swallowed.
The childlike sense of wonder Cass had felt only moments before was obliterated by blind, icy panic as the manifold lights of heaven dimmed, faded, and died, annihilated by the insatiable darkness. And still it came, faster and faster, gaining strength and speed as it gathered mass from all the ingested star systems. Now darkness filled her vision, stretching from one end of the solar system to the other. Now the nearer stars blinked out. Now the sun grew cloudy, as if covered by a shroud, its light dimming and dimming until it was gone, leaving only the moon. Then that, too, faded, dimmed, and was gone.
All that was left was darkness made visible.
Cass looked into the gnawing void, and her heart shrank within her breast. She heard a howl-a disembodied shattering shriek of triumph-as the darkness swooped to consume the Earth and all living things. Death, extinction, the annihilation of the entire biosphere and everything in it followed with stunning swiftness. Cass felt an inexhaustible, fathomless cold as the last light of life disappeared into the merciless abyss.
She woke up shivering beneath her blankets and aching with a sadness akin to grief. Her heart, still racing, drummed in her ears. She glanced around the room, terrified, her breath coming in gasps. Never had she been so frightened.
Dragging together the tattered shreds of her courage, Cass rose, threw on her clothes, and dashed across the convent courtyard to the nuns’ chapel. She let herself in and hurried down the aisle to the front of the sanctuary; she lit a candle at the little stand and then sat in the front pew, candle clasped tight in her hands, praying-for peace, protection, she knew not what-until it grew light enough outside to see. Then, leaving the church, she crept out of the convent gate. The empty street soon echoed to the sound of her running feet as she raced back to the Zetetic Society door.
Standing on the step, Cass pressed the doorbell, waited ten seconds, and pressed it again. The sky was showing a rosy hue as the sun lit up the heavens; the streets of the city were quiet yet. From somewhere a rooster crowed. She was on the point of pressing the bell again when she heard muffled footsteps in the vestibule beyond; there was a click, and the door opened to reveal Mrs. Peelstick in a lavender dressing gown. “You must be very keen to get home.”
“I’m not going home,” Cass blurted. “I’m staying.”
The old woman observed her for a moment. “Something has happened to change your mind, hasn’t it, dear?”
As Cass drew breath to answer, Mrs. Peelstick raised her hand. “No, don’t tell me. We’ll have some tea and toast first. And then when Brendan gets here we can all sit down together and talk about it.” She ushered Cass inside, then closed and locked the door behind her. “It will save repeating. Is that all right? Do come along to the kitchen.”
She padded off in her slippers, and Cass, exuding relief from every pore, hurried after her.
CHAPTER 29
In Which a Debt Is Paid in Candles
Douglas awoke to the sound of the bells of Matins. Sore from his night in the cramped confines of the confessional cubical, he stretched and then peeked out from behind the drape. Seeing that no worshippers had yet entered the church, he quickly roused Snipe, and both crept away. Though the sky was light with the coming sunrise, the streets
of Oxford were still steeped in shadow. At the crossroads the bailiff was dozing at his post; Douglas gave him a wide berth all the same. Once past the guards’ station, the two furtive figures proceeded along Cornmarket Street to the market square- empty save for a bench in front of a butcher’s stall that was occupied by a sleeping man wrapped in a cloak with his hat over his face. On the upper floor of a large house in one of the narrow side streets leading from the square, Roger Bacon, friar and professor, had his private chambers. Douglas had marked the place on previous visits and, assuming that was where the ecclesiastical authorities were holding the professor, Douglas reckoned he might be able to reach him.
The entrance to the lodging house was not locked, so Douglas and Snipe slipped into the tiny vestibule and made their way up the wooden staircase that creaked with every step. A single door at the end of the hall gave access to the only room at the top of the house. Surprisingly, there was no lock on the door; neither was it chained. It, like the door to the master’s tower study, was barred by simple board planks nailed crossways to the doorposts. The door itself could be opened to allow food and drink and other necessaries to be passed through. A determined captive could easily have escaped, but the renowned “Doctor Mirabilis” was a captive of conscience; no doubt honour held him more securely than iron.
Douglas put his hand to one of the boards and pulled; the resistance offered gave him to know that they would require tools if they were to gain entry-not an insurmountable problem, but likely to be more noisy than he would prefer. Waking up people at the crack of dawn would not advance the cause.
“Come, Snipe,” he whispered, turning away. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”
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