Muggles Bereaved

by Vernon C Moyse

  “Conceivable that you are right,” said Newton, “And I think I see where you are leading us.”

  “The Needful One would be the antithesis of an Apostle; needing to push his perverted philosophy forward – where better than in California – to gain disciples,” hurried Tracy.

  “Vanity,” said Newton, “The Needful One cannot see his own weakness which is his vanity. He will not be hidden in California, he will be highly visible and he can recruit disciples easily enough.”

  Tracy gave up on the ‘his’ versus ‘it’s’ controversy and wondered if Newton himself had a problem with vanity, as by all accounts he had. But she said, “But didn’t the biblical Satan promise to spread blood and terror on the land?”

  “I think that the biblical Satan’s plan was to force people to accept good ways by actual application of pain and horror. And the agents of pain and horror were to be the people themselves,” Said Newton.

  “Rednecks for Ned,” offered Jim.

  “Something tells me that there is a military connection to The Needful One being in North Hollywood or St Louis.’ Said Lim, “and there’s something else; there’s a growing feeling of certainty that we can cause The Needful One to overbalance because of emotions like rage and vanity which he has newly encountered having made himself flesh in mockery of Christ.”

  “A Missouri military connection? Maybe his fleshy self likes films and Jazz,” said Jim earning stereoscopic scowls from Newton and Tracy. Scowls which he ignored, “well, who’s to say. Maybe he wants to make propaganda films in Hollywood and rig them out with rag time sound tracks.”

  “Shut it, Jim,” said Tracy out of a genuine concern for Jim’s role and image in the presence of Newton. She need not have worried; the key Superpower had truly been gifted to the humble and meek. And that was Jim. “And as a matter of information, it will be easy enough to find out about portals in cemeteries. We just go to any portal and ask the Harbourmaster for directions. Simples.”

  Louis interrupted all the conversations, “lady and gentlemen, fasten your seat belts for we are about to descend for a landing. The shuttle will land, we will disembark and then the shuttle will leave immediately for security reasons. You will not need to pass through immigration or customs but officials will come and process our entry privately. Happy landings and do not be cheeky to Homeland Security. The penalties would be painful and inconvenient” This last comment was aimed at Jim and accompanied by a stern look.

  This, with take-off, was the part of a flight that Lim hated. He knew how kerosene behaved during a crash landing, but this shuttle used liquid hydrogen and some liquid oxygen which were an even more lethal combination. His pulse was at 180 beats per minute as his iWatch told him. Astronauts lifting off on an early Saturn rocket experienced a pulse rate barely that high. He gripped the seat arm rest hard, knuckles showing white. He didn’t even mind that Jim put a comforting hand on his arm.

  Lim tried distraction tactics on himself, “there is a Gospel of Satan,” he said, “it was written by one Troll Towelhead who is suspected of writing a spoof and naming himself The Grand Mufti of Satanism. There are also works by Aleister Crow....leeee,” his voice tailed off as the Skylon landed with the slightest of thumps.

  The arrival in America, a first for each of the teenagers, was not in the least exciting. A busy airport, busy officials and an American patriot’s refusal to give royal status to any Brit, even the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics, Sir Isaac Newton. It did not sit well with Newton and luckily for him, some fawning newspaper and media hacks spotted him and swamped the officials dealing with his papers. This distracted Newton from launching an attack on ‘bloody bureaucrats who do not use VIP lounges’ which might have led to drawn guns and private, lengthy and obstructive interrogation. It might even have led to strip searches, latex gloves and intimate probing. Louis should have warned Newton about the consequence of disrespecting Homeland Security, instead of warning Jim. He should also have pointed out that, if you claim a latex allergy, you can avoid the probing finger altogether.

  For Jim, Tracy and Lim, the three Companions, America seemed hot, bustling with arrogance and devoid of the famous sunshine. It was, after all, still early morning. They were finally ushered into a VIP lounge and were treated to a breakfast with as many calories as there are inches to a light year. Almost. Tracy, mindful of her new weight, stuck to excellent fresh orange juice, a plate of wonderful fresh fruit and a poached egg, sunny side up on rye, Her companions had pancakes with maple syrup. They learned from the local TV and press that orange groves were being decimated by infestations of citrus leaf miner and all kinds of flies. The papers referred to this as ‘a plague of biblical proportions’. Wheat fields were also under attack from diseases that were proving impossible to deal with. And all this very recent.

  Newton harrumphed, “didn’t take The Needful One long, to ape God’s assault on the Egyptians. And look at this; arsonists have set no less than a thousand fires in the forests of California. And other western states are in flames too,” He threw down his newspaper in disgust, “ We’d better get to Valhalla as soon as.”

  In the event, Newton was distracted by a lucrative offer to demonstrate that he could indeed solve the problem of establishing rigorously the existence of the quantum Yang-Mills theory and a mass gap. Yes, the problem officially stated by Arthur Jaffe and Edward Witten and completely out-with the understanding of mere mortals. There were also five other problems with $1 million dollar prizes. Newton cursed that he had been unaware of the prize for the Poincaré conjecture which was already won.

  Louis grudgingly provided Newton with a satellite phone and it was agreed that he should keep in touch while winning the million dollar prizes. Everyone assumed that he would win and that included Newton sceptic Jim. There was a hurried farewell, as Newton now had to catch another plane with a University agent hurrying him along.

  “Don’t the Americans have portals, then,” said Jim.

  “That University administrator wasn’t a licensed portal user, I guess,” said Louis, “and I dare say Newton welcomes the chance to fly first class while using the time to work on the Yang-Mills theory.”

  Jim was scathing, “Our very existence at threat and he’s off chasing a million dollars.”

  “That’s a bit unfair,” said Lim, “he’s driven by the challenge as much as the money. He already has plenty of cash. Besides, we must trust that The Quintessence has allowed that he has done his bit.”

  Louis’ agents took care of all the baggage and had brought a special services minivan to the airport. Spacious, air-conditioned and equipped with weapons, drinks and food stocks, the vehicle was also armour plated and equipped with satellite telephones and computers. No sooner had they boarded and were being driven towards Valhalla, than a loud ‘ping’ sounded. They turned to find Jim commanding the vehicle microwave and turning out a very acceptable hot dog.

  “Anyone for eleven-ses?” grinned Jim.

  “After that meal at the airport?” Tracy was scathing.

  “Gotta keep my strength up,” said Jim speaking through a mouthful of Frankfurter and Kansas seeded bun, “you never know how many silk cloaks I will have to produce and how many, er, trumps! Hot dogs are very good fart generators.”

  “There are times,” said Tracy, “when you and I are poles apart.”

  Getting to the Valhalla cemetery proved nigh on impossible. The roads were jammed with traffic and that traffic was headed for the same destination. The minivan radio news advised the reason for the delay; that an incredible and prescient Prophet had emerged at the head of a new Church, a man forecasting Armageddon and an imminent onslaught on America by the combined forces of Russia and China. This man was preaching at the Valhalla cemetery from atop the marble mausoleum known as The Mount of Abraham. Not just atop, but in the air above the mausoleum, a piece of levitating showmanship designed for, and successful in, attracting rubber-neckers of the right kind to make disciples. Traffic was gridlocked. And gri
dlocked with bearded rednecks bringing every weapon imaginable as bidden by the new Prophet of Armageddon. Some drunken revellers had even taken pot shots at the hovering Prophet of the Dark Side. Only when an RPG was fired at him and went clean through his midriff causing only a strange ripple of smoke like rings, did they save their ammunition. The rounds that had already been fired, had caused distant casualties a mile and more away. The evangelical Christians who had fired the mpg had been severely beaten by The Needful One’s first disciples.

  Jim had the minivan TV in operation, “Did you ever...” he began, “there must be every press helicopter in the state flying around. I wouldn’t like to be up there, it’s a collision waiting to happen.”

  “As I live and breath, The Needful One is producing a caricature of Jesus Christ’s Sermon on The Mount,” said Louis, “The Geeks shall inherit the Earth.”

  “And we thought you spooks were all atheists,” said Tracy. She played Louis “sounds-like” game; “Blessed are the Pursifull, for they shall obtain Percy!”

  “Pursifull?” queried Lim.

  “Described in the urban dictionary as ‘A crazy person who is fun to be around, parties a lot and gets all the ladies/men’” said Tracy gravely.

  Lim turned back to his seat TV, “I won’t ask what the urban dictionary says about ‘Percy”,” he said, “what’s The Pursifull up to now?”

  Jim wasn’t shy of saying, “the urban dictionary says ‘Percy’ is the street name for a very bad case of HPV virus, otherwise known as...”

  “Enough!” interrupted Lim, “look at the TV reports.”

  Those that had the back of seat TVs tuned in and saw the Messianic character soaring unsupported above the grey marble. The perfect simulacrum of the biblical Jesus Christ with a beard but with a simple black cotton shift. The view from the circling helicopter also took in a small part of the crowded cemetery. Another shot showed gridlocked roads and people deserting their vehicles and running towards the cemetery. Weapons were much in evidence.

  A separate news report focussed on Russian and Chinese troop movements. Missile carrying low-loaders disappearing into forest and road tunnels. Silos opening their hatches, though these shots were from American, elderly film stock. Jim scoffed at the Minuteman missiles being described as ‘Chinese’.

  “Any fool knows that Minuteman missiles are old USA stock,” he muttered.

  But nations were indeed on alert, simply at the behest of a new Magician showing his art in a cemetery in Hollywood. Solid citizens changed channels in despair not wishing to subscribe to the panic and alarm. Solid American citizens, solid Russian citizens and solid Chinese citizens. In contrast, their militaries rubbed their hands and exercised diligently, brandishing highly polished and loud rattled sabres.

  “We are conveniently gridlocked while The Needful One recruits,” grated Louis, “we will never reach the cemetery in this van and we’ll never get through the crowds. Doubtless The Needful One has already converted the most gullible into an imperial bloody guard. Bloody rednecks armed with assault weapons!” he busied himself with his phone, breaking off to look around the van and say, “we will have to go in by air.”

  “Why does no-one bloody-well listen to me,” said Jim, “why get involved in a mid-air collision waiting to happen.”

  “We could do it with less use of the swear words,” said Tracy, “I know this is America, but one swearword leads to another and the Americans have some of the foulest expressions. I value my mother’s, er, sexual integrity.”

  She had betrayed the fact that she knew what some of those ‘worst words’ were, and blushed. She had also nearly referred to her mother’s virginity in a preposterous mistake for a child of a mother’s loins. She blushed even more. No-one quite understood why. Not every pubescent Superman understood that U.S.A swearword seemingly beloved of Norman Mailer, Kurt Vonnegut and B-movie scriptwriters.

  “Sorry,” said Louis, “you’re right and swearing just encumbers communication with noise and anger.” He returned to his phone, then looked up again, “I’m afraid we are going to have to transfer to a helicopter here on the highway. It’ll draw attention, but cannot be helped. A pity Sir Isaac isn’t here. He could have stayed with the van and provided a focus for attention distracting people from our getaway. Not every day these Americans get to see a Prophet from the Dark Side and then Sir Isaac Newton standing in their midst.”

  “He’d be charging for autographs,” growled Jim.

  The helicopter took an age to arrive and Jim was, by then, almost peeing himself with fearful anticipation. This was a real life arcade game and he was one of the heroes. Trouble was, there was more than an even chance of getting badly hurt. He had seen transfers to helicopters in film and it looked precarious. Even Bruce Willis got covered in blood from such exploits. And he had stunt men to do the actual shots.

  But when the helicopter arrived, all grey and green, it lowered a basket into the highway where it lodged between vehicles whose drivers were incensed. Louis’ agents went forward and freed the baskets, placated the drivers by the sheer force of their sunglassed images. They then ushered Lim. Jim and Tracy on board, equipping them with harnesses and carabiner clips. They were winched up and unclipped and dragged aboard the helicopter across a breathtaking, vertigo-inducing gap between basket and chopper. Louis and an agent followed shortly after, both carrying stubby machine pistols.

  “What’s the plan,” asked Lim, shouting through the thunder of rotors.

  “There isn’t one,” said Louis, shouting back, “put your thinking caps on!”

  The flight was very short and they soon joined the ludicrously crowded airspace over the Valhalla cemetery. Far below they could see the levitated figure, hands open wide, delivering his message through the roar and wash of helicopter blades. His black robes hardly shifted in the downdraft.

  “That’s a hologram,” exclaimed Lim, “look, his robes should be blowing about.”

  “You could be right, “said Louis,” though I have no idea how much a shapeshifter is affected by the downdraft from a helicopter. His robes aren’t real robes, after all.”

  “If it is a projection, The Needful One must be doing it from within that Mausoleum. Can you find an entrance?” asked Lim.

  “Entrance...” repeated Tracy, “we’re going about this the wrong way! Vain as it is, The Needful One will be expecting a direct attempt to confront his influence. But there may be another entrance.”

  “Go on,” said Louis.

  “Maybe the key is the word Valhalla, maybe there is a portal in every such named place. Your people will have lists of portals, won’t they, Louis?” Tracy looked at Louis challengingly.

  “I’m sure our American equivalents will have details of all known portals with Harbourmasters, but The Needful One may have a separate network,” answered Louis.

  “Get them to check the Valhalla sites,” suggested Lim gripping Tracy’s arm in appreciation.

  It took a moment. Every Valhalla cemetery was listed as having a portal in a mausoleum. But the nearest other such cemeteries were apparently in Illinois, Alabama or Missouri. Distances of 2000 miles and more.

  “Wait,” said Tracy, “those cemeteries have a mausoleum with a Harbourmaster. Which other nearby cemeteries have a similar facility.”

  “Who needs Newton when you have a Tracy,” said Louis, viewing his cellphone.

  Jim shook Tracy’s shoulder in a congratulatory way, but really, he was letting her know that he, Jim, was around for her. Just in case Louis was carrying a torch for a teenager. Tracy patted his hand, obviating the need for a duel.

  “Yes, others are listed including a cemetery called Hollywood Forever where stars of stage and screen were interred.”

  “Wait,” said Lim, “If all Valhalla cemeteries have a Harbourmaster, all we need is a nearby portal with a Harbourmaster! We can transport into Valhalla from any portal!”

  “A Tracy and a Lim, fantastic combination!” said Louis.

  On a ver
y low growl, Jim said; “Obviously bisexual,” referring to Louis. But he was just feeling left out of the general praise.

  “There’s a portal at the North Hollywood mall,” said Louis, already directing the pilot. “what is The Needful One saying, by the way?”

  Jim passed forward his seat back’s iPad which listed the new prophet’s words:

  “Blessed are the poor spirited, for theirs is the kingdom of hedonism.

  Blessed are those who mourn for minds uncontorted.

  Blessed are the envious meek for they shall inherit my powers on the earth.

  Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for darkness for they shall be blinded.

  Blessed are the merciful, for they shall need mercy.

  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God die.