“How?”
How to put it?
He paused, and seemed to be gathering his thoughts before replying.
“I admit I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “But two things make me think there must be a link. First there’s the coincidence of dates. The ceremony on All Saints’ Eve and what Charlie saw only a few hours later. Next—and it was some time before this occurred to me—the exact match between what I imagine to be the object of the ceremony and what Charlie thinks may actually be happening.”
Again he hesitated.
“The point is, as I told you at the time, the ceremony of the Beriyt et-Mavet is meant to destroy. It’s an assault upon creation itself. Its center, God forgive us, is a formal and considered reversal of the Ineffable Name. If such an intention were coupled with real power, if it could actually do what it set out to do, then what Charlie describes is exactly what we might expect. A threat of total destruction.”
“But the fire stopped the ceremony,” Rosina said.
Cecilia looked at Michael. “I suppose the question is—did it stop it, or did it just interrupt it?”
With what was obviously a heroic effort to keep her voice calm, Rosina said, “If the ceremony had been completed, Michael, wouldn’t it have—so to speak—got us?”
Michael shook his head.
“It was Henry Wheatley only, I think, who pledged your lives. And he died, as I recall, at about six-fifty a.m.”
Cecilia nodded.
“Well then. His life for yours. From the moment of his death, you two would no longer be involved. But suppose someone else completed the ceremony soon after Wheatley died? According to Charlie, Siding Star was first noted at seven-twenty a.m. Greenwich Mean Time on that morning,”—he looked over at Charlie, who nodded—“which leaves time—nearly half an hour—for someone to have done it. After Wheatley’s death, and before the sighting.”
Rosina stared at him.
“And you really think a ceremony carried out on that morning might have led to this… this Siding Star thing?”
“I only say that there seem to be connections of timing and of purpose.”
“There’s also a difficulty,” Andrea said.
The others looked at him.
“Michael, I admit your time scheme fits like a glove—from where we stand. But if I follow Charlie correctly, this explosion actually happened twenty-seven thousand years ago. It’s only its resultsthat first appeared to us on November first. So how can something someone did in London on that day have an effect on something that happened twenty-seven thousand years ago?”
“I think I can answer that,” Charlie said. “Mathematically, at least.”
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ChristoPher BryAn He took a notebook and a pencil from his pocket and started to draw.
“It’s to do with dimensions,” he said. “The dimensions in which we operate. Just imagine for one minute that you were confined to two dimensions—a flat surface, like this:
“Now, to get from A to B you’d obviously have to go a certain distance—let’s say, since we don’t know the scale of my drawing, quite a long way. But then let’s imagine the surface curved—as space is, incidentally—so that is was like this:
So long, of course, as you were still confined to two dimensions, you’d still have to go the same distance from A to B. But now imagine you’ve learned a way to get out of two dimensions into the third dimension. You could then go by a very brief journey from A to B—like this:
“Do you see?”
“So far.” Andrea said.
The others nodded.
“All right. Now, we normally operate in four dimensions—
three of space and one of time. Mathematically, however, it’s quite possible to envision a fifth, though of course we don’t know how to reach it. But suppose that some immense spiritual—or counter-spiritual—force is unleashed. Perhaps it’s precisely through a fifth dimension that it operates. In which case it’s perfectly possible to see how a prayer now, or a curse, might effect something thirty thousand light years distant—like a fly crossing from one edge of our paper to the other. Do you see?”
“I’m afraid I do,” Cecilia said.
“Of course it’s sheer speculation. I’m not actually claiming that’s what is happening. I’m only saying that mathematically it’s possible. Mathematically, of course, as in other spheres of discourse, all sorts of things are possible that aren’t actually the case.”
“Isn’t there something like it in one of Charles Williams’s novels?” Rosina said. “Yes—Discesa all’inferno—Descent into Hell. I read it some years ago. About a girl in the twentieth century who helps her ancestor who was a reformation martyr.”
“That’s it exactly,” Charlie said. “Naturally Williams doesn’t talk about the mathematical side of it, but he certainly saw in another way how the idea could work.”
“You know, I think the ceremony must have been completed at Hadrian’s Grave,” Cecilia said.
“What?” The others were staring at her.
“Hadrian’s Grave—the archaeological site at Cranston College. You’ve shown us how the thing might be possible. And Hadrian’s Grave has to be the place where they did it— where they finished the ceremony. They couldn’t have done it at the academy because of the fire. But they did have time to get to Cranston College. And we know perfectly well they had a connection with the place. We’d already spotted that. What’s more, I think it’s the right sort of place.”
“Why?” Andrea asked.
“It’s ancient. And in the past it’s had some connection with evil. Michael knows. I looked it up. Wouldn’t that be the sort of place they’d use?”
“It would indeed,” Michael said, “And then, of course, we noticed the smell.”
“Exactly!” She hesitated. What we can’t show, we don’t know. “Of course, it’s not proof. But it’s surely the best possibility we’ve got.”
“I think it is,” Michael said. “Does anyone have any other suggestions?”
No one had.
“So?” Rosina said. “I take it you didn’t just ask us here so we could come up with a brilliant theory. Do you think there’s something we should do? Something we can do?”
“Something we must do?”
Michael looked at Charlie, then at the others. Finally, he answered his own question.
“If that place has been claimed for the Destroyer, then my instinct is that someone should go and deny that claim. An exorcism would be appropriate, but it would take time to arrange. Just to go and pray would be something. But if that claim has been made, it should be challenged. After all…” He hesitated, feeling for words, then went on, “If all times are in some way accessible then perhaps…”
Andrea could not help himself.
“Then perhaps all times are redeemable?” he said.
Michael smiled at him.
“Exactly! After all—God has made all times, and before all times only God is, and time does not antecede itself.”
“So perhaps, by turning to… to God, we might—or God might—actually change something? I mean—about the star? We might come at things in a different way?” Cecilia spoke hesitantly, but Michael was smiling at her.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps all it will mean is that when death makes its claim on us, someone will have said, ‘No, these things aren’t yours. They’re God’s.’ I don’t know. But I think we should do what we can. And to say that things are God’s is, after all, to speak the truth, which in the end is always stronger than any falsehood, even if it doesn’t look like it at first.”
“Then I’m sure I have to go,” Charlie said. “It all fits. The dream. The church. You. I’ve got to do it.”
“If you feel like that, then I think you must—”
“There!” Charlie’s spectacles almost came off as he jerked to his feet. “That’s exactly what you said in my dream. ‘You must!’”
“Well, yes. But what I was going to say is that
since your dream involves me, too, I think I should come with you. I’ve some experience in these matters, and that may be useful.”
“Actually I’d like that very much. I’m completely out of my depth.”
Michael smiled. “I think we’re all out of our depth. I certainly am. But still, I’ll come.”
“In which case,” said Cecilia, who had wandered over to the window, “it looks as though we’re in for a soaking.”
“We?”
“Well, you both seem hell-bent on it, pun intended. I don’t see how I can let you go blundering about in the dark performing acts of goodwill or saving the planet or whatever all by yourselves. You’ll need someone sensible even if it’s only to hold a flashlight.”
Michael gazed at her for a moment, then collected himself.
“We’ll also need all the good will we can get,” he said.
“So I’ll go and put my jeans back on,” Cecilia said.
“I’ll do the same,” Andrea said.
“And I,” Rosina said.
“Cara, is this a place for you?” Andrea said. “It’s raining, and you’ve only just thrown off a bad cold!”
Rosina stared at him. “Excuse me, have I not been following this conversation? There are ten days to go to the end of the world and you’re telling me to be careful because I might catch another cold?”
Andrea grinned and shrugged.
“Brava Mama!” Cecilia said, and hugged her: then turned to Michael. “All right, the members of la forza are committed. So what’s it going to do?”
“I imagine the first problem,” Michael said, “is to get in at all.”
“Actually,” Charlie said with a wry grin, “the place is in association with London University, and I am on the faculty. I suppose I could say I thought I had a right to wander in with my friends and look round if I wanted to.” He smiled at Andrea, and added, “And of course to extend courtesy to a distinguished visiting professor from another university and his family!”
Cecilia smiled. “I’ve been handed stories that were worse. And with luck you won’t have to use it. Judging by what I’ve seen of higher education security, if we walk in looking as if we know where we’re going, nobody will take the slightest notice.”
“They were actually quite strict with us tonight,” Michael said.
“That’s because they had a government minister and the mayor and God-knows-who there. But that means there’ll probably never be a better time to walk in than the next hour or so. After getting rid of all those VIP’s without disaster, ten to one security will be sprawling about drinking beer and congratulating itself.”
“All very promising,” Michael said. “But let’s be quite clear—if what we’ve speculated is correct, then after we’ve cleared that hurdle we’re up against something very dangerous. Charlie, when you describe your dream, you always say that somewhere behind or beyond me there’s something ‘dark and looming’. Isn’t that right?”
Charlie nodded.
“And that’s the one part of your dream we haven’t identified. We don’t know what it is, which means we don’t know what we’re facing. If we go in God’s name, intending as best we can to serve God, then certainly nothing can harm us eternally. But physically, temporally—that’s a different matter.” Again he looked at Charlie. “You’ve a chief part in this, but I think that has to mean you also face the greatest danger.”
“Maybe so.” Charlie grimaced. “But—what of it? My girl friend Natalie told me what John Wesley said when someone asked him, ‘What would you do Mr. Wesley, if you knew you were going to die today?’”
He paused. The others looked at him.
“Wesley said, ‘I’d do exactly what I’m going to do anyway.’ So I suppose we’d better go and do it.”
Michael smiled. “I can’t add anything to that.” He looked at his watch. “It’s nine-forty. If anyone needs me, I shall be in church for the next twenty minutes. I suggest we assemble in the hall at ten-fifteen.”
“Then may I use your study?” Charlie said. “I want to write something.”
“Of course.”
The decision was made. And it was clear to Michael that all of them were in their own way prepared for whatever lay ahead.
eighty-three
C
harlie Brown sat at Michael’s desk. He had warmed quickly to the Cavalieres, to say nothing of their beautiful dogs, and he already liked and trusted Michael. But with the stimulus of their presence gone, he found himself depressed and afraid.
He thought of Natalie. ‘Keep safe,’ she’d said, and that was just what he was about not to do.
There was a scratch at the door, twice repeated.
When he opened it, Tocco stood looking at him until he invited her in, then she walked to the desk and arranged herself by his chair. Charlie was grateful for her company. He sat again at the desk, caressing her head.
He needed to write to Natalie. At least he could do that. He adored her. And she’d given him quite simply the best two weeks of his life. He just hoped she’d forgive him—for not trying to stay safe, as she asked. But then, of course she would. She was the one who’d said, “You’ll do your duty when you have to.” She’d understand. She was wonderful. He picked up the pen and scribbled for a few minutes. He glanced through what he had written.
“Little enough. But it’ll have to do.”
When he finished he put the envelope in the center of the desk, got up, and went to the door. Michael was just coming up the stairs.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“Then so am I.”
For a moment they stood together on the landing.
“Why me?” Charlie asked suddenly.
“It’s a mystery. It’s one of the two great unanswered questions. Why God? And why me? Theologians call it the problem of election. No one knows. Except God, of course.”
“I feel pathetic.”
“Who doesn’t? But you have good will. A measure of faith. And you’re trying to be obedient. So you may have more power than you think. And, of course, you’re in love.”
Yes, he was. Charlie wasn’t sure even now that he understood it, but perhaps that didn’t matter. Perhaps the important thing about love was not to understand it but just to be in it.
“Michael—there’s something you could do for me. On the desk there’s a letter for Natalie. If anything happens to me and you come out of it, could you see she gets it? And explain what happened?”
“Of course.”
Together they descended the stairs.
It was already a minute after ten when Rosina and Andrea joined the others in the hall. They had assembled windcheaters, flashlights, Wellington boots, and a piece of rope. Rosina looked curiously at Michael’s case.
“It contains the vessels I use to celebrate Holy Communion for the sick. I thought we might decide to say mass there. What better way to reverse the Beriyt et-Mavet?”
“Whose car?” Cecilia asked.
“Ours, if you like, Michael,” Papa said. “It’s an Outback, so we could put all your things in the back.”
Siding Star 357
“Thank you,” Michael said. “Now then, let’s remind ourselves we’re in God’s hands.” They gathered around him. Cecilia had thought she would feel awkward about this, it being a very long time since she’d done anything remotely like it. She’d had a religious phase and gone to Mass when she was about thirteen because she’d fancied one of the priests but then the full force of his being celibate had dawned on her and that had so seemed silly she’d given it up. Still, Michael seemed relaxed about it and not to care when her religious phase had been or that it was now over, and somehow that made it all right, so she joined the little circle with everybody else.
She noticed that when Michael finished his brief prayer, Papa and Mama both said “Amen,” so she said it too and crossed herself when they did, though she was surprised. But then, Papa had always said he could recite the creed ex animo: it was the instituti
onal Catholic Church with which he had his quarrel. So presumably being with Michael who was an Anglican left him free to indulge the ex animo bit.
They left the house a few minutes later. It was raining heavily. Papa offered her the keys, just as he had whenever they were together from the very first day after she’d passed her test.
“Rosina and I can get in the back with Charlie,” he said. “There’s plenty of room, Michael. You sit at the front and navigate.”
He pulled down the rear door and came around to the rear passenger door, splashing through the puddles.
A few minutes later they were off.
eighty-Four
T
he rain helped. It’s a good deal easier not to draw attention to flashlights and a coil of rope if you can hide them under a bulky raincoat. Cecilia’s estimate of what was likely to happen when they arrived at the college turned out to be entirely accurate. The whole reception area had a disorganized after-the-party air. Most people had left but there were still enough to make their entry relatively inconspicuous. Priests were not common here, but Michael was engaged in conversation with Charlie, who looked exactly like the university professor he was, and so little notice was taken even of him.
Cecilia wondered if all the plants were plastic. Had she not been so anxious to avoid drawing attention to herself she’d have gone and looked.
Andrea gazed curiously about him. Cecilia was right. It was reminiscent of Gatwick Airport. With maybe a touch of the new Euston Station. He continued to gaze curiously as they walked through passages, then splashed across quadrangles that he
360
Christopher Bryan gathered Michael and Cecilia had already visited that evening. Rounding the last corner, he saw a brightly lit fence. “That’s Hadrian’s Grave,” Cecilia said to him.
“And that, I take it, is the watchman’s hut,” he said. The lights at that end of the fence must for some reason have been off when Michael and Cecilia visited the place earlier, otherwise he didn’t see how they could possibly have failed to see the hut at once. Not only was it visible, there was a light inside, and they could see the occupant’s head.
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