The Saint and the Sorcerer

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The Saint and the Sorcerer Page 11

by J. C. Hanna


  Confused and nervous, Rufus turned to walk away. In front of his face, as if from nowhere, Tarish appeared. The fairy floated before Patrick.

  “Time to go, boy,” snarled Tarish.

  “Go where?”

  “There,” said Tarish, as he pointed at the rock.

  “What’s there?”

  “Your mission, boy. It is time for your great mission to begin,” said the fairy, intolerantly.

  Tarish waited for a moment before impatience got the better of him. In a flash, the fairy flew at, and then through the rock. Rufus paused for a moment. He looked back towards the town one last time. With a tear welling in his eye, he turned to where Tarish had vanished, and then he walked forward, and into the rock.

  Chapter Thirty-one: Twenty-six Days Until Amy’s Death

  As Amy awoke the next morning, she was in pain. A lot of pain. Her head felt as if it was being crushed under a tank. Her ribs ached as she breathed, and her nose was itchy. As she moved gingerly in the bed her entire body conspired towards defeated inertia.

  She slid off the bed and awkwardly wrestled with the discomfort until she was standing. It was a crooked and undignified pose. She was still wearing the clothes from the night before—normally the sign that she had been to a great party; this time a reminder of the horror that she had only just managed to escape. The manner of her rescue was a point on which she simply could not focus; not until she did something about the pain.

  She purposefully blanked the long, freestanding mirror in the bedroom as she walked zombie-like through to the living room. She felt sick. Branna was sitting in front of the television, which was on. A local news reporter was broadcasting live from Central Park. The reporter was struggling to maintain a professional tone.

  “Police have said that they are confident there is no terrorist involvement,” said the reporter. “Although it is much too early to speculate, sources close to the NYPD say that drugs are the most likely reason for the deaths. For those concerned about missing loved ones, the advice is to stay away from the scene and to contact the special hotline that has been set-up by the Mayor’s Office. To recap; at least thirty young people are now feared dead. Another eighty are in local hospitals. An unknown number are missing. Their injuries range from minor to life-threatening.”

  Branna snorted derisively. The television blinked off.

  “You don’t believe her?” Amy asked as she drifted cautiously towards Branna.

  “Hundreds died last night. Hundreds more will die tonight,” Branna said.

  “Why would they lie?” quizzed Amy.

  “They don’t know the truth. Or if they do know the truth, they will never admit to it. That would only cause more panic. More death.”

  “What is the truth?” demanded Amy.

  Branna turned to Amy and she shot her an impatient look.

  “You know what the truth is,” Branna said.

  Amy sat down next to Branna. The pain that had been ravaging her body began to ease.

  “Vampires?” Amy quizzed.

  “Vampires,” Branna confirmed.

  “Why have they done this?”

  “They want you, Amy. They will not stop until you are dead.”

  “You are saying, this is my fault?” Amy said, defensively.

  “I’m not saying that. It is because of you, but you are not to blame. You are as much an innocent victim of this as those that were killed or injured. We cannot change what has happened, but we can try to stop it getting any worse.”

  “How? Tell me what to do,” Amy replied, in a measured tone.

  “They will not stop until you are dead. They will build an army here in New York and hunt you down. They will kill, or turn, all those that stand in their way. If you leave the city, they will follow you. The city will be safe.”

  “But if they follow me then the same thing will happen wherever I go. I don’t see how that helps.”

  “There is a place where they will not be able to follow you,” Branna explained. “In Ireland.”

  Amy stood up. She was about to protest. She had no desire to fly halfway around the world to hide from a hoard of murderous vampires. Her job. Her family. Her friends. As her silent wave of protest crested and broke, something a little calmer and more pragmatic took its place. The calmer inner voice repeated her reasons for staying, only from the opposite side of the argument. Her family. Her friends. Everyone in the city. All gone if she remained in New York City. She did not have a choice.

  “OK,” Amy conceded. “How will we do this? There are flights to book. I must think of something to tell my parents. And work.”

  Branna shook her head.

  “You cannot tell anyone where you are going. You cannot say goodbye,” Branna said.

  “But.. My parents! I can’t just leave without saying a word. That would be cruel. And they would never stop looking for me.”

  “And what would you tell them? What would give them peace of mind? What words would stop them from trying to find you?”

  Amy thought for a few moments. She did not have answers to those most basic of questions.

  “Your parents will assume that you were caught up in the events of last night. You were seen at the event. They will go looking for you; as will the parents of dozens of the missing. But they will look for you here. In the city. In this country. The vampires will follow us to Ireland. To the place where you will be safe. They cannot enter that sacred place. They will be far from those that you love.”

  Amy sat back down. It was a horrible prospect. To deliberately cause so much pain to her parents and her friends; it was too awful to contemplate.

  “And can you be certain that the vampires will leave the city once I have gone?”

  “I cannot be certain of that. If you leave, then they are likely to move on. If you stay, they will remain here for certain, and more will die.”

  Amy slumped back into the chair.

  “I can give you the rest of today to see those that you have to see; from afar. You must not speak to them. Then you must decide. Stay, and watch many people die; or come with me, and prevent the certain carnage. The vampires will not attack you during the day, and I can protect you tonight. But in the morning, we must leave. Or you can stay here, unprotected.”

  Amy nodded her head reluctantly in agreement. The pain completely left her body as her mind began to fragment under the enormity of what she was about to do. Through it all, there was an empty feeling at her core.

  Chapter Thirty-two: Queen of Broken Hearts

  Cumnor Place, Oxford, 8th September 1560

  Robert and Amy Dudley’s manor house was close enough to London so that Lord Robert could attend his Queen at short notice; yet far enough from the capital to shield the ailing Amy from the cruel court gossip that surrounded her husband and the monarch.

  Amy’s mood had steadily inclined towards despair and unpredictable irritability. Her household had felt the full wrath of her desperation daily. An oppressive tension followed the Lady as she moved through her home—her household was in a constant state of unease; all wondered if today would be their turn to act as a random lightning rod to her unpredictable ire.

  The house servants had gathered around the table in the kitchen before eight in the morning. They were waiting with muted respect for Mrs. Odingsells, the head of the domestic household, to enter the room and set them about their daily tasks. Mrs. Odingsells was a rotund, authoritative mistress, who could instil fear and compliance in even the most belligerent of servants. The lady herself was not given to much work, beyond the planning and issuing of orders.

  Mrs. Odingsells’ second in command, Mrs. Owen, was already installed at the table. She was also disinclined to actual manual work; her role restricted to checking to ensure that the orders of Mrs. Odingsells were being carried out with appropriate diligence.

  The half dozen souls around the kitchen table stood up promptly as Amy Dudley entered the room. Her unexpected appearance immediately energised the atm
osphere with trepidation. The staff stood primly to attention.

  “Please, be seated. Finish your breakfast,” Amy said, cheerfully, and with an easy smile. “When you have filled your bellies, and you have tidied the house, I would like all of you to go to the market for the day. It is the last summer fayre of the season. I want you to raid every stall. Fruits, vegetables, and meats that may be preserved for the winter season. Lord Robert intends to bring the Queen of England to our humble home over the Christmas period, and I do not want to spend a ransom at that time on food that we could get now for half the price.”

  Mrs. Owen shifted uneasily in her chair. The trip to the market sounded like fun to those servants that did some actual work. To Mrs. Owen, the trip to the market sounded like too much of an effort. A plan to excuse herself from the task was already taking shape in the lazy woman’s mind.

  “I have given Mrs. Odingsells a fat purse stuffed with coin,” Amy Dudley continued. “She is in the study dividing that coin, and listing the supplies that each of you is to hunt. When you have attended to your chores, make your way to the study. And be quick about it. I want the finest goods, not picked over scraps. Those duties that require more attention may be set aside until such time that you return. The food at the market is the thing. The only thing.”

  She smiled warmly once more, and then she left the stunned servants to wonder. After a short time, they felt confident that she was out of earshot; a quiet, excited buzz of speculation began to move around the table. The room fell silent instantly when, for a second time, Amy Dudley unexpectedly entered the kitchen.

  “My husband has a guest staying over. He is in the big room at the back of the house. A man of great importance. It is vital that you do not disturb him,” she said, with mild menace.

  She left the kitchen. The conjecture then turned to the unnamed guest. Mrs. Owen eventually brought the idle chatter to an end. She set them to their chores. Every maid and manservant completed their tasks in quick time. They then made their way to the study for their shopping list, and money—some reckoned that deals could be done, and a little coin pocketed; the coin not destined to return to the Dudley treasury. By mid-morning, all had left the house, except for Mrs. Odingsells and Mrs. Owen. The two women sat down quietly in the study to conspire.

  “She surely did not mean for us to leave the house unattended?” suggested Mrs. Owen.

  “In her recent moods of day and night, who knows what she intended. We will stay, but we will keep out of sight,” said Mrs. Odingsells. “If she intended for us to go with the others, then we will be as good as gone; if she wanted us to stay, then we will be but a shrill call away.”

  The matter was settled.

  Amy Dudley approached the bedroom at the back of the house filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. She rapped gently on the door. No answer. She pushed easily against the metal handle plate and the door slowly opened. Swallowing hard, she stepped into the room. The curtains were already drawn and the room cast in a deep gloom. A slight earthy smell drifted lazily through the air in the chamber. The creature was standing by the head of the bed. The hood of the demon’s cloak was up. Although hard to tell for certain, in the poor light, it looked to Amy as if the bed linens had not been disturbed. As she closed the door behind her, the room darkened further, adding to the sinister atmosphere of the space.

  “They have gone,” Amy said.

  “Then we can begin,” said the demon.

  “And when you do this, I will be able to destroy my husband and the queen? I will be strong enough to end their cruel liaison?”

  “That was our bargain,” said the creature, with slight irritation. “I will transform you, and following that act of transformation, they will never again know happiness.”

  “Is there a ritual?” Amy asked, innocently.

  The demon walked purposefully across the room. It stood in front of Amy. With tenderness, the creature placed its grey, bony hands firmly on either side of her face. She could barely make out the twisted horror of its features, buried as they were in the shadow of the high-sided hood. A gust of hot, rancid breath from the demon’s mouth turned her stomach. She tensed in anticipation of the creature’s bite. With merciful force and speed, the demon twisted her head sharply. Her suffering ended in the instant that her neck cracked. It had not been the transformation that Amy had been expecting, but the promised result was assured—Robert Dudley and Queen Elizabeth would never find happiness in their mutual love and affection. The widely speculated affair and the mysterious death of his wife would ensure that unhappy outcome.

  The demon carried Amy’s lifeless body to the top of the stairs across from the bedroom. Her body slipped from the creature’s arms and tumbled down the wooden steps. The creature quickly moved to avoid discovery. It entered the uppermost part of the house, where the roof narrowed into a thin point. There it hid with disciplined stillness in the shadows. At nightfall, it would escape. The haste with which it retreated to the topmost place in the house was not entirely necessary, as a full hour passed before Mrs. Owen’s terrified scream announced the discovery of the poor Lady’s body.

  When informed of the news of his wife’s death, Lord Robert proclaimed that an inquiry into the circumstances surrounding the death would take place. It was independent and rigorous, but it did little to quell the mischievous gossip that quickly spread throughout the kingdom. No witness mentioned the unseen guest that Amy Dudley had instructed her servants to avoid. They assumed the guest to have been the creation of a sick mind, and they did not want to sully further the reputation of their tragic mistress by adding madness to her sorrowful legacy.

  Chapter Thirty-three: The Two Sorcerers

  Richmond Palace, 1583

  John Dee continued to enjoy a high degree of affection and trust from his queen following the death of Lady Amy Dudley; there was a tinge of bitterness on occasion—Dee had failed to foretell the Lady’s death. Dee had once told Elizabeth that Robert Dudley, the love of her life since she was a young woman, would be her husband and that the pair would be happy. Her trusted soothsayer had predicted peace in the kingdom and happiness in her private life. John Dee had been wrong.

  She had Dee’s workshop and extensive body of alchemical texts transferred to Richmond Palace—close-by when she needed his services, but no longer a constant anchor to the pain of the scandal that he should have predicted, and prevented.

  The arrangement suited Dee well as it afforded him the freedom to explore some of the more fringe facets to the hidden craft that he could not indulge in freely while under the queen’s roof. The practicing of such very dark magic in her household would have been toxic ammunition to her enemies, and just cause for Dee’s imprisonment or execution, if his un-Christian misconduct came to light. There was only so much protection that Elizabeth could afford Dee.

  During the summer of 1582, Dee took another student of the craft, Edward Kelley, into his household. The two men became fast friends and secret conspirators in the planning of England’s future. Dee dreamed of a great empire that would one day rival, and protect against, the mightiest kingdoms of Europe. That empire would be carved out in the New World. An expansive navy was key to the success of his ambitions. Elizabeth was cautious. She feared that the very act of building a large fleet of warships might be cause enough for certain rulers to act against England and her perceived ambitions. Foreign spies were everywhere, and even the hint of a military build-up could send the nation headlong into a ruinous war.

  Dee and Kelley devised a demonstration for their Queen. In secret, they established a shipyard in the middle of New Forest, Kent. The forest was almost one hundred miles from the coast, and the very last place that a foreign agent would go looking for a fleet of warships. Cloaked in a powerful concealment spell, the enterprise saw four new warships constructed and ready for sea trials in less than two months during the spring and summer of 1583. The war vessels were then transported to the port of South Hampton on the wings of magic that w
as meticulously crafted by the two powerful allies. Elizabeth, at first furious that the nation had been put at such risk without her knowledge, eventually settled to the genius of what Dee and Kelley have accomplished. She ordered them to continue with their efforts. They were to do so cautiously.

  Dee and Kelley met every morning in Dee’s workshop. Establishing a mighty British Empire was not their only occupation.

  “I spent some time last evening in front of the Persian mirror,” Kelley began, excitedly.

  John Dee turned to his friend expectantly. Kelley and Dee were of a similar age. They dressed in the same black velvet, and each sported a pointed chin beard that was greying at the tip. The only discernible difference between the two men was in the size of their waistlines—Dee’s wife was a ferocious feeder; a prosperous belly was the result of her manic efforts. Kelley’s wife took her lead from her husband in all things, and when he said that he did not want to eat because he was too busy with this or with that, then that was an end to the matter—he seldom found time to sit down to a proper meal.

  “And did it live up to the promise of the merchant?” Dee asked.

  Kelley smiled widely through his thin facial hair.

  “Better than he promised,” Kelley said. “I have contacted them.”

  Dee sat forward in his seat. His face lacked all readable expression, but his body betrayed his excitement as he rocked and fidgeted. Kelley continued.

  “The angel tapped out several messages, which I then transcribed. And in a wonderful moment, I gazed upon its heavenly face through the glass. Ribbons of paper issued from its mouth. A message, in the clearest aspect. Telocvovim. I believe it means; he who has fallen.”

 

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