‘We don’t even know who Andrew is.’
Sam took out the photograph given him by the abbot. ‘This man.’
Whisperer thought, searching his memory. ‘The man who fled the monastery? Yes… a historian.’
‘You’re sure of that?… So where did the Historian – Andrew – go?’
‘We don’t know. There’s at least one Firedancer after him. Possibly a valkyrie too. They’re masking his path. Judging by the trail of darkness on him, anywhere east of Poland is possible. Certainly our sources are now finding it hard to track anything in Russia. We think – but it’s only rumour…’
‘Since when have we ignored rumour?’
Whisperer looked uncomfortable. ‘There are said to be things happening in Tibet. Someone has been gathering specific books together. Rare books. The Illthoran, the Arrenisi Codex, the Ashen’ian Journals, the texts related entirely to —’
‘Cronus and the keys,’ said Sam quietly. ‘The Historian has been seeking out books to do with the Pandora keys.’
Whispered nodded. ‘The keys are lost, though. You need all three of them to free the Pandora spirits. It would only take one key to free Cronus, but that is lost – they are all lost.’
‘So’s the crew of the Marie Celeste, but that didn’t stop them Feywalking home.’ Sam lowered his voice. ‘Has the Historian found them? Does he know where the keys are?’
Whisperer shrugged.
‘At least give me odds.’
Whisperer didn’t meet his eyes. ‘No one has ever tried looking for the keys before. They’re too feared, too dangerous, hidden by Time himself. But if it is just a question of looking, then – yes – there’s a chance he does know where they are. Not even Time can cover up every trace. Then there’s the amount of research he’s done, his sudden flight, and the resources deployed in seeking him. The death of Freya. Surely, to warrant all this he must know something of immense value.’
‘The keys? He knows where they are?’
‘Probably. Two to one in favour.’
Sam cracked his knuckles. The sound made Whisperer wince.
‘Tell me,’ Sam said, in a voice loaded with purpose, ‘where’s the nearest travel agent?’
EIGHT
The Historian
H
e was in the war again, playing the spy.
Which war? He’d been in so many.
Any war. The rules are the same for them all.
He had to find Andrew. Andrew would explain everything – why Freya died, what pursuers were after Sam himself. Or, if he didn’t, he’d provide a link to Gail, whoever she was.
In his hotel room Sam finished a letter, sealed it up and handed it to Whisperer. ‘I want you to get this to Thor, by whatever means.’
‘What does it say?’
‘Why, you should know!’ said Sam with a smile. ‘Someone in your network is supposed to have written it, after all. Someone willing to betray my location, and wanting to meet Thor in person. Only whoever that someone is won’t be there.’
‘You want to meet Thor? Will he fall for it?’
‘Thor will believe it because he wants to. He’ll come.’
Whisperer frowned, uncomfortable. ‘Why are you risking this subterfuge to speak to him?’
‘I suspect there’s a lot he can tell me. I also think if he knows it’s me he won’t come.’
‘Why Thor? Why not Odin?’
‘Because, unlike Thor, Odin is brighter than he looks. Thor is less wary.’
‘Especially if you contact him as a spirit would do? Without magic?’
‘Precisely. And contact every Russian source we have. If they refuse to cooperate, tell them they’ll wake up with heavy curses on their backs.’ He sighed and stretched. I can’t do anything more until Thor responds and we find the Historian. Nothing save what I always do – stick my nose into dusty books and hope some clue from the past will tell me what’s in the future.
‘Where will you go?’ asked Whisperer.
‘To Hell.’
Bubble took one look at what Sam wore and burst out laughing.
‘Stuff it,’ snapped Sam. ‘I was forced into this.’ Self-consciously he stripped off the green anorak and threw it in a corner. Bubble ignored him, returning to a long list of notes he was arranging.
‘I did some research on the keys, while you were gone,’ said the old demon, as Sam struggled into a warm black jumper and folded himself into the opposite chair.
‘How nice,’ he said, still annoyed by Bubble’s laughter. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Depends what you know.’
‘About the Pandora keys? Just legends. That’s all they told us servants.’
Beelzebub ignored the bitterness and anger in Sam’s voice – to him such emotions were an everyday part of demon life. He ran a long finger down his notes. Seen from a certain angle it gave the impression more of claw than nail. ‘Did you know the Princes of Heaven once tried to destroy the keys, and the spirits that they trapped?’
‘I know they failed, too.’
‘Did you know that Time once tried?’
That aroused Sam’s interest. ‘My father? What did he do?’
‘Tried to smash up every door, to destroy the spirits behind each one with a single blow. But he couldn’t. Earth shadows Heaven, Hell shadows Earth. The Pandora spirits drew power from the hate, suspicion and greed of Earth, renewing themselves as fast as Time could destroy them.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘The year before you were born. If that signifies anything.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Well, it’s a pretty major event – Time being incapable of destroying something. People must have been more than a little scared by this proof of the spirits’ power. Cronus’s power, too.’
Sam pulled a face. ‘Cronus. I bet he wasn’t even scratched.’
‘I believe not… I’ve also had a rummage through some of Hell’s own records. You know Belial is a third-generation offspring of Fire and Chaos?’
‘I had heard.’
‘Belial was once questioned on his parentage. When he talked about Chaos being a Queen of Time, he is known to have said, “Time never fully trusted her. She was one of many whom he didn’t tell how the Pandora spirits could be destroyed.”’
Sam, for all he was in Hell and therefore as far from Heaven as could magically be, responded like a perfect Son of Time. ‘Impossible. If Time couldn’t destroy the spirits himself, then no one can.’
‘Logically speaking, Time is the least likely to destroy them,’ Bubble mildly conceded. ‘Hate, Greed and Suspicion, yes – he might be able to annihilate those. But not Cronus. Cronus is everything Time isn’t. Once those two had engaged face to face, there’d be nothing left for either to rule.’
‘Oh, come on. Belial was just showing off! He was trying to prove that, even though he doesn’t have Time’s blood and can’t Waywalk, he knew what lay beyond the Portals. Well, here’s news, Bubble. He doesn’t. He can’t imagine what shadows spawned Hell’s miserable little world – he can’t begin to guess at the things which mortals and immortals alike have made or dreamed of.’
‘I’m merely reporting what I found, as you asked. Whether the source is authentic or not, I cannot tell.’
Sam immediately felt guilty. And I’m supposed to be the Heavenly one. ‘I’m sorry.’ For a few moments he became an empty-eyed statue, but for his fingers drumming on the arm of the chair.
Beelzebub patiently allowed him his silence, not bothering to wonder what other, unrevealed facts Sam was drawing on from his long past.
‘All right,’ Sam said finally. ‘What became of the keys?’
‘Scattered.’
‘By who?’
‘By whom,’ Bubble corrected without thinking. ‘By Wisdom, Time’s most trusted Queen.’
‘And no one knows where?’
‘No.’
‘Hum.’ Silence again, this time for long enough to make even Bubbl
e uncomfortable. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Nothing you don’t already know.’
Sam thanked him and got to his feet. Unusually, given his great age, Bubble rose with him. ‘Actually – there is one more thing.’
‘What?’ It came out terser than Sam had meant – he was already impatient to go, bursting with new theories and schemes.
‘Asmodeus. You really ought to talk to him.’
‘I can’t. Not now.’
‘Well. Whenever you get an opportunity.’ Bubble looked crestfallen.
Sam sighed, and patted the old demon on his scaly back. ‘I’m sorry. But if things get out of control on Earth then you know what’ll happen in Hell. Every world mirrors the other, well-known fact.’
‘I do know. But please don’t forget.’
Sam laughed. ‘Me? Forget? With my memory?’
‘I’m worried that it’s getting a little full.’
‘Oh, please. The brain is bigger than some people might make you think.’
‘Do you want to know why you ought to talk to Asmodeus?’
‘I thought you’d just explained it.’
‘No.’
Sam folded his arms and said calmly, ‘All right. You’ve saved the worst for last, I can tell.’
‘You’re absolutely right.’
‘Hit.’
‘The Gehenna Portal opened.’
‘And? What demon waltzed through, and did it bring chocolates?’
‘A Waywalker… “waltzed”… through.’
‘You astound me. Was it someone I know, or just any old Waywalker?’
‘Seth.’
Sam’s look of complacency was blown away in an instant. Seth? What’s Seth got to do with anything? Why Seth, why the Son of Night? ‘Seth?’ he echoed, for want of something better to say. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How long did he stay?’
‘A few hours. I always watch the Gehenna Portal.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You watch the Portal, but on those rare occasions when someone other than the Prince of Darkness comes through you decide not to follow?’
‘He is a Son of Night. In this kingdom, it’s hard to follow a man born to darkness.’
‘The way you put it…’ murmured Sam. ‘You must see Dracula one day. Great film. You’d crack up in hysterics.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Bubble said mildly, ‘and you know it.’
Sam frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ he heard himself murmur distantly. But his voice and his thoughts were miles apart. It can’t be coincidence. Seth… here?
He’d heard the rumours, of course, about how Seth was behind the attempted killing of more than one of his own brothers. He’d also observed with interest how the suave Son of Night, in his elegant robes, had bowed, flattered and charmed his way along. The smoothest talker in the whole of Heaven. The one who lies as easily as he ties his shoelaces, who flatters even the most reluctant listener and who can smile a smile on which all the stars above have bestowed their favour.
It was in that long-forgotten age – deliberately forgotten by Sam – when his father, Time himself, had spoken of him to his other offspring. This child is necessary for my grand design. Do not harm him. Sam had woken in a strange bed, to find a dozen strange faces staring down at him. You are illegitimate, their expressions had screamed. We do not associate with you, save that our father has forced us to. And though we smile and smile and call you friend, there will be whispers behind you always and we will never, ever think of you as one of us. We will drive you out with things unsaid, until you are deafened by them.
Jehovah had cut him out of his life completely. Not a word, friendly or aggressive, polite or sour, had passed between the two of them since the revelation of Sam’s true birth. But Sam had heard the rumours spread by the Son of Belief, and known they were honed by one who wielded faith like a sword. It was when the Children of Time had wondered what necessity prompted the honouring of an illegitimate child in Heaven, uncertain whether he was enemy or friend, or of the extent of his powers.
Seth had come in search of him in a grove by a river where Sam liked to sit. There were other people about, but they all avoided his eye. Not Seth.
‘Lucifer, isn’t it?’
Sam had glanced up questioningly, and automatically risen to his feet on seeing another Son of Time, albeit of dubious reputation. Seth laughed and gestured to him not to stand, sitting down next to him like his oldest friend, at ease in Sam’s company already.
‘Don’t bother with formalities. I’m the lowest villain of Heaven and it’s not right that the Son of Magic should honour me.’
‘In that case I’m pleased to meet you, villain,’ replied Sam. ‘What may I do for you?’
‘Oh, I’m just up to my usual games. Plotting, scheming.’ He waved the words airily away. ‘I’m afraid you’ll think I am rather abrupt, but I’m only being true to my nature. Tell me, Lucifer – if I may call you that – what are the extent of your powers? I mean, really?’
Sam had hesitated. ‘I don’t know how to define them,’ he’d said finally. A lot of people had been asking him what he could do, whether in quest of an alliance or to know his strength as an enemy. He had grown immediately protective of his magic. It was the only secret still remaining to him.
‘Come now, you can tell a villain like me,’ said Seth. ‘Actually, I’m probably the last person you should tell. I must warn you – all my friends end up hating me very soon.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Come now.’ He was wearing a charming, sparkling smile and nudged Sam when he spoke. ‘I know you trust me as about as far as you can throw lightning. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Because you might well be able to throw lightning, for all we know.’
‘I fear I really can’t help.’
Seth looked ready to urge the point, but instead his smile widened and he threw up his hands in defeat. ‘Well, I can understand your position. But if I may ask one more question – don’t feel you have to answer if you don’t want to – but what is it? The… thing inside you that was released when you first put on the crown?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘The plain and honest truth?’
‘That’s it. Our father told me to put on the crown, and I obeyed. What secret is inside it, what Time’s purpose was in giving it to me, I don’t know. I assume it’s some kind of punishment.’
‘Do you? But he described you as the necessary one.’
Sam said nothing, his eyes fixed on some distant point. He had a look of almost serene aloofness. Seth was silent too: a brotherly silence of shared pain or whatever it was he thought Sam might be feeling at that moment.
Finally Seth spoke in his quietest, calmest voice. ‘Look. I want to help you – we are brothers, after all. There have been rumours. Whispers. I feel I ought to tell you, that’s all.’
Sam turned, his face unreadable. ‘Tell me.’
In his most conspiratorial tone, Seth murmured, ‘They’ve been doing research. In the libraries, asking the powers, the elements. There’ve been a lot of ideas, but the one currently in favour is that this… light is a kind of weapon. At the least it will blind or stun a victim if unleashed. No one’s sure how it works, but they think the basic principle is that the Light, when released… pulls all thoughts, all consciousness, every emotion into itself. To discharge the weapon only requires an exact target, some kind of image superimposed over the spell.’
‘Go on.’
‘Just imagine it. Every aggressive thought ever, every evil, every sin condensed into one blast of light. Think what would happen to the target. Instant breakdown. Their head would explode.’
Sam said nothing. He was staring into the distance again, listening to another thing left unsaid. At length Seth realised he’d get nothing out of his brother.
He rose to his feet. ‘It’s only a theory. But there are people ou
t there who believe it – are scared of it, even. The ultimate in destructive power, that’s what they’re calling it. They’re frightened of you. I thought you ought to know.’
He turned in a flurry of well-cut silk and headed away, but Sam’s voice made him stop and turn back.
Waywalkers: Number 1 in Series Page 10