“Come in, come in,” said the imposing woman, “you’re later than I expected. I have held off my mid-morning coffee.” Emerald led the way down the dimly lit hall, with its dark beams, burnished horse brasses and impressive displays of flowers. Her tweed skirt had twisted slightly off centre and her solid calves were swathed in thick blue stockings. She wore what Onyx’s mother would have called ‘sensible flat shoes’.
“Emerald—”
“Georgina,” said the older woman as she balanced her walking stick against the side of an imposing floral-print armchair. “Here, it must be Georgina! We don’t want to frighten the horses … Victoria.” Emerald smiled, but only with her mouth. Her eyes watched Onyx with the attention a female praying mantis gives to her spouse before eating him.
The front garden, with an impressive sweep of gravel, had a profusion of tall country flowers, none of which Onyx could name. The back garden, laid to lawn with military-precision stripes left by the lawnmower, had roses of all hues thriving on the right-hand side. There, a grey-haired man with a sloppy blue-grey knitted pullover, brown trousers and green wellies, pushed a wheelbarrow. Trees of magnificent size graced the edges of the property. Onyx had noted approvingly that the house could not be observed from anywhere outside.
“My husband,” said Emerald, nodding towards the gardener. “You’ll see him at lunch. You are staying for lunch I take it?” She didn’t wait for an answer and went straight on. “There’s no denying it’s a mess. Plans made and followed over the centuries have been thrown awry. You and I and Magda have to set things straight.”
Over coffee they discussed how the trap set in Hammerford had been sprung and the Hammerford Boy had avoided their snare.
“We know a lot about his heritage,” said the stout spymaster. “It’s not by chance he’s a Bruce. Bloodlines are far, far more important than most scientists realise.” She tapped a little dark wood side-table with her silver coffee spoon. “And if they do realise it, we prevent them publishing!” Emerald’s ice-queen smile chilled the room once more. Onyx glanced at Emerald’s ankle and noted the slight bulge of a bandage.
“War wounds,” said Emerald, demonstrating her uncanny knack for noticing what others were noticing. “The upset caused by those three interfering time-hoppers had some irritating physical side effects for me. I went blind, you know, for nearly a week. Thought I’d been consigned to darkness. But my vision came back all of a sudden.”
The woman paused, took a sip of coffee, and fixed Onyx with a stare.
“Inner and outer vision. Inner and outer.”
Onyx nodded, not quite sure what Emerald meant, but guessing her psychic skills, already phenomenal, had been enhanced in some way. Or maybe that’s what Emerald wanted her to think.
Both women paused as a voice could be heard in the hallway outside. The door to the lounge opened and a largish young woman came in wearing a mustard windcheater top with a badge stating ‘Treetops Riding School’. She had the same dumpy features as her mother, and the same thick, somewhat unruly hair showed beneath her riding helmet. She held out her hand with all the enthusiasm of one of her schoolgirl riders. Onyx stood up and introduced herself.
“That your Maserati gleaming in our drive?” she asked.
“It gleamed when I set out but I think it’s got half of Devon’s mud on its sides now,” said Onyx. If the girl recognised Onyx as the one who had frightened her horses earlier in the day, she didn’t let on. Her eyes had none of her mother’s steel in them, but had a similar lack of affection. The feeling’s mutual, thought Onyx.
“Lovely car,” said the young woman. “I’ll leave you to it. I need a hot bath now, to ease the tired old muscles. Ebony’s Dreams needed quite a work out today Mother. Toodle-oo.”
With the door to the lounge safely closed once more, and Mr Emerald snipping away at his rose bushes in the garden, Onyx raised the question she desperately needed answering. She framed it as neutrally as she could.
“So what happened to Diamond?”
Emerald looked up. Her lips tightened.
A prolonged beep sounded.
“Our other visitor, I think,” said Emerald. “Excuse me while I release the front gate.” She eased herself out of the armchair and using her stick for support, left the room.
The Crypt in the Garden
Lunch completed, the three women returned to the lounge. Emerald sat near the unlit fireplace. Onyx sank into the soft leather armchair opposite. Magda, wearing neatly pressed jeans, suede boots with some kind of glitter, and a dark and light-grey pullover that slunk off her shoulders, eased herself into the luxury of a smart wingback chair. Outside, Mr Rillington had returned to his roses, this time with a spade.
“The situation is getting out of control,” announced the dark-haired young woman, crossing her legs and jiggling one suede leather boot.
“I agree,” said Emerald, “and we’ll sort things today. I have everything prepared.”
Onyx had no idea what she was referring to but kept her counsel. At lunch, conversation had ranged from horse breeding to dressage, the Grand National and the Derby. Onyx quite enjoyed all things horsey, as she had partial ownership of a rather fine racehorse related not too distantly to the famous Red Rum. She’d even passed close by the Queen at Ascot on more than one occasion. Emerald announced over the tiramisu served for dessert, that they were not to be disturbed and would be using the outhouses.
“Now that the three of us are gathered once more, there’s something I want to share with you,” said Emerald. She reached down for her small brown-leather handbag and removed a mobile phone. Switching it on, she fiddled with the buttons for a few moments, and said “there,” as she held it out towards Onyx.
The photo on display on the screen of the phone looked like a still from a film. Taken high up on some steps it showed men and women in costume, holding flaming torches. An imposing man with dark hair stood in the distance near what looked like the gate to some sort of stone enclosure, swathed in darkness, except for a blur of white that might be someone huddled inside. Using her fingers, Onyx zoomed in on the man.
“But …” she hesitated.
A half smile played on Emerald’s face.
Onyx passed the phone to Magda, who studied it with care. She shook her thick black hair away from her face and, like Onyx, zoomed in on a face.
“So,” said Magda, “we have a picture of Diamond.”
“We do indeed,” said Emerald, “and this is the first photo of its kind ever. The Bruce boy appears to have the capacity to carry objects across the time pathways. In a way he has irrefutable proof of time travel, not something HMG would like widely broadcast, to say the least.”
“No, Her Majesty’s Government needs secrets like that kept secret,” said Onyx. “In fact, most of Her Majesty’s Government have no idea time penetration is possible. ‘Far Viewing’ is on the far side of science fiction for them. Actual movement through time … well, you would be laughed out of the London clubs they so enjoy.”
Magda shook the phone, holding it between her thumb and fingers. “You got this how?”
“In a way, by chance,” said Emerald, “if any of us still believe in chance these days. We had planned to pop Rhory Bruce in a bag once he’d reached Alexandria. The snatch team were tracking him and found an ideal opportunity.”
Emerald paused and straightened her tweed skirt, pulling the hem down closer to her dumpy knees.
“And?” Magda stood and returned the phone to Emerald.
“Well, it went wrong. Someone intervened. We’re not quite sure who, but the team said they stood no chance. It appears this Bother Boy has powerful assistance. But we did get the phone, and that in itself is a great boon. The picture it contains is worth more than all the tea in China. In effect it is priceless for our purposes. Seems the gods were on our side for once.”
Emerald glanced up at the large clock on the mantelpiece.
“We shouldn’t waste any more time. Three o’clock is
perfect for what we need to do.” She explained to the other women what they would accomplish mid-afternoon.
Half an hour later, the women left the house by the back door from the well-appointed kitchen and emerged into the back garden. Onyx hunched her shoulders as a chill breeze caught her. The leaves on the trees danced and rustled as the wind twirled them, now this way and then that. Of Emerald’s husband there was no sign. He obviously took his marching orders seriously, thought Onyx. Some distance from the back of the house they passed through an arch in a high yew-tree hedge and reached a double barn that dominated this part of the garden. Built of slatted wood painted with the darkest varnish, it had a thatched roof, just like the house. The two parts of the barn were connected by a small clock tower above double gates that completely sealed off the outside world. The first barn proved to be warm and to have spacious cubicles, allowing each woman to change with privacy. Onyx slipped out of her outer garments and put on the deep blue robe, tied with a silver cord. From her handbag she took the silver moon-shaped pendant that she always kept with her. Re-forged from silver dating back to pre-Roman times, it had, she believed, special powers of protection and projection.
At five to three the women, all robed, left the first barn and, protected from prying eyes by the large yew hedge, entered the door of the second barn. A landing with a balustrade had just enough room for all three of them. Emerald closed the door and locked it with a great bolt. At the end of the landing, stairs descended to a lower floor several metres below the level of the garden. One tall wrought-iron lamp, standing in a corner of this lower room, augmented the illumination from the two small windows on the garden side below the thatched roof.
Emerald led the way. Onyx studied the faint lettering on the vast slabs of stone that made up the floor at this lower level: writing that had been almost smudged out by hundreds of years of footfall. The few legible words were in Latin. They were walking over someone’s tomb. Curved stones protruded from the side of the structure closest to the road outside. Onyx stroked the cool, slightly rough surface of what must be part of a stone column.
“A church?”
“Well, a crypt,” replied Emerald. “The chapel above received the unwelcome attention of Thomas Cromwell and his reformation. We believe it was burned to the ground. But the crypt and its ante-room remained. That’s where we are.”
Magda, wearing a long robe of maroon over a grey underrobe, spun slowly in the centre of the room. Her clothing swirled around her. She stopped and held her hands up towards the roof.
“Powerful. Powerful energies. Dark and light spinning together. A plait of power.”
“The Abbey stood on a dragon line. This is a nexus point,” said Emerald.
Her deep-green robe, reaching right to the floor, allowed her to appear almost slim. “It’s the reason we bought this house. What is achieved here is like some of the vortex points in the City of London. It affects everything else. If we are going to reconnect with Diamond it will be here.”
Opening a large oak door she led the way into the next room. Only candlelight illumined the space and pale shadows danced over the plastered walls. On their left some of the ancient stone wall still remained. In the centre of the room a massive wooden table had been almost completely covered with a dark-red cloth. On this cloth, to the right, lay an unsheathed sword glittering in the candlelight. At the other end of the table stood a chalice, made out of the top half of a skull. A shudder passed through Onyx: a shudder of distant fears and ancient pleasures. This underground room already stood between two worlds. She made her way to the large wooden chair set at the narrow end of the altar. Magda sat opposite her. Emerald took the chair to the West. In front of the Eastern chair stood a blow-up of the picture so handily taken by Rhory on his visit to Ancient Egypt.
“There is our gateway,” murmured Emerald. “Through similitude we will pass.”
Visions of Ancient Times
Darkness clawed at the car. A light drizzle necessitated windscreen wipers, but did not provide enough moisture to prevent them squeaking every now and again. Trees, surprised in the bright headlights of the Maserati, lurched and shivered in the gusting wind, pushing the car towards the ditch at the side of the road. Onyx put the radio on, but found the reception to be poor and switched it off again. She braked sharply to avoid a large branch that had fallen into the lane and eased her way around it.
In retrospect, they’d wasted too much time over lunch, with Emerald’s dreadful daughter going on and on about everything horsey and Papa Rillington holding forth about bees, of all things. Who gave a flying chamberpot about bees for goodness’ sake? Onyx flexed the fingers of each hand and braked once more as something badger-like scooted across the road in front of her.
“Blooming countryside.”
The ceremony had started out all right. Emerald had given them each little leather-bound, hand-written notebooks. The paper, heavy and yellowing and cut to a shape longer and narrower than that found in Ryman’s Stationers, surely dated from the 19th century. All were hand-written in a clear copperplate, with a skill long lost.
“We are doing the Third Rituale,” Emerald announced. “It’s about halfway through. Rituale Permeo.“ As there were only three of them and the ceremony required a minimum of six, she explained how they would double up the parts. Each of them had long passages to read, with occasional Latin phrases that Onyx had to squint at to ensure she read them in a way a Roman might actually recognise. About halfway through Emerald stood and, with the picture kindly provided by the Hammerford lout behind her, read something in a language that sounded nothing like English or Latin. She held a translucent piece of paper in her hands and when the reading was complete, she set it alight, dropping it smouldering into the skull goblet.
“Now we wait,” said Emerald. “Best to close your eyes.”
Onyx knew all three women were adept at loosening their subtle bodies to do far viewing. She didn’t expect the feeling that her limbs were slowly melting and that the room itself would vanish like mist in bright sunshine. Except she hadn’t found herself in bright sunshine.
“Turn right and then turn left.” The satnav brought her back to the problem of negotiating her way out of Devon. She’d thought it would be easy to make her way back to London and had confidently not switched on her dashboard companion. Result? She ended up facing what could only be the entrance to some farm or other with a horse staring at her over a barbed-wire fence.
When the ceremonial had come to an end Onyx had greater respect for Emerald. Without that woman’s psychic brio she wondered if she would’ve been lost in some ancient snowscape for ever. But she’d seen Rhory blooming Bruce, though all three women had struggled to make sense of this vision.
Back in the kitchen the horse girl, Emerald’s daughter, received a summary command to go elsewhere – no doubt to whisper to equine ears in a far-off stable. The three women sat in silence for some time, nursing cups of tea and trying to make sense of what had occurred.
“Well, we didn’t see anything of Diamond. At least I didn’t,” said Magda, her silver rings flashing as they caught the light of the setting sun.
“We all didn’t,” stated Emerald, banging the point of her middle finger on the kitchen table. “His whereabouts remain a mystery.”
She muttered an oath under her breath. “It’s developing into a right mugger’s muddle!” Only she didn’t say mugger.
“What are we dealing with here?” asked Magda. “It’s as though the boy drags us around in his slipstream. We should have been back deep in the first times of Ancient Egypt with the photo and phone giving us coordinates, and instead we end up in a Greek city somewhere, with crazy Christians and Roman soldiers straight off the film set of Cleopatra.”
“Yes,” said Emerald, “you’re right, Magda. Quite right. Of course. We were back in ancient Alexandria, which is in Egypt, actually.” She continued to attempt to poke holes in the tabletop with her finger. “He must be back in Alexandria at
some nexus point of the past.”
“Good,” said Magda. “Let’s hope he stays there and gets crucified by some Roman senator just for being a snotty brat.”
“No, it’s not good,” said Emerald. “Whether he finds his way back or not, he has power he doesn’t understand, to play with the winds of time. It’s as though his actions change the settings, the vectors. He may unravel everything. He must be stopped.”
“We need to study what we experienced and see if it gives clues as to how to stop him,” said Onyx. “We know we’re not alone in this and the visions were for a reason. Mine was bizarre and definitely not Egypt.”
Onyx set her mobile phone to record as the women described their experiences in turn.
Onyx found herself riding a horse. Even in the altered state of consciousness a part of her smiled at the irony of that. Her leggings were leather, with slightly itchy undergarments to keep the biting chill from entirely freezing her… She realized her consciousness now piggy-backed on that of some man. That’s a first. Her boots, made of thick felt or suede, had hefty socks that did little to keep her toes warm – or, strictly, his toes. Her riding gloves reached halfway to her elbow and something heavy pulled down on her shoulders. Not just a cloak, chainmail as well. Saturday night fever, I’m bouncing along in the mind of a soldier!
The sky above pressed down with a uniformly chilly, gloomy grey. If any sun shone above the clouds, clearly pregnant with yet more snow, it gave the barest minimum of light to allow the description of day. The track along which the soldier rode had been trodden by many hooves, but had frozen ruts and icy fissures, and the rider picked his way with care. The wind bit at his face, and the scarf pulled over his mouth scraped its frozen cloth on his chapped lips. Every once in a while he stopped and listened, scanning the thinly-forested hillside to his left, where it rose steadily towards a ridge half a mile away. On his right, the ground continued to fall away, blanketed with pristine snow with only the tracks of some small animal to show anything had passed by.
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