The Seventh Seal (The Chronicles of Daniel Stone Book 1)

by A. J. Dobbs

  ‘You have compromised everything; I should kill you now,’ he shouted, but then a smile appeared on his face and he calmed.

  ‘But they still have no idea who or what we are…’ He was thinking out loud again.

  ‘We carry on with our plan, Simean; we will continue to steal at will.’

  Simean now smiled and so did Sam.

  ‘Now you’re talking my language, Odling.’

  15th September 2012, EP Headquarters, Earth

  ‘Lucius, good to see you back; what news do you bring?’ said the Professor, as he and Paris rummaged through piles of paper records.

  ‘Not good, Professor, I’m afraid. Simean James, Sam Summerhill and Elizabeth Shurman turned up at the Shurman residence and they were confronted by the police. There were shots and the two officers were killed. I fear, Professor, we may have missed an opportunity to recover the Arcanum.’

  The Professor looked shocked. ‘What do you mean opportunity? He already has it, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Well, Professor, if Smee had recovered the Arcanum from here he would not risk exposure by going to Elizabeth’s home. There is only one reason he would have sent her there: she had the Arcanum not Peter.’

  ‘But why would Peter have given Elizabeth the Arcanum?’ said the Professor, shocked by this revelation.

  ‘I think I know; look,’ said Paris, pointing at papers. ‘These are letters from Elizabeth to Peter. They were in a relationship.’

  Paris continued to flick through the letters as Lucius and the Professor looked on open mouthed.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Paris, now reading from the letters.

  “My darling Peter, I know what this means and the trust that you have now placed in me. If I had ever doubted your love then my doubts are now all gone…”

  ‘Oh god, all these people were killed for nothing. Why would he do something so reckless?’ said Paris, visibly shaken.

  ‘Love is a powerful emotion, my friends. You know better than anyone how matters relating to the balance always walk a fine line between good and evil,’ said the Professor poignantly.

  ‘Why did she turn against us?’ said Lucius, once again looking to Paris for answers.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Paris.

  ‘What? Come on; what happened?’ said the Professor and Lucius in impatient unison.

  ‘Calum, Elizabeth’s son, is disabled. She thinks if the Arcanum is all powerful then why can’t it be used on Calum? She wants him to walk again. She thinks the Arcanum can fix his spine.’

  Silence followed as the group absorbed these new facts. Paris continued her analysis.

  ‘Peter realised by this stage he had crossed a line and now tried to rectify things, but Elizabeth threatened to go to the police. She said she had amassed a hoard of documents that would blow the lid on everything.’

  Paris looked up from the letters. ‘That would explain why he was strange when Jade and I visited him. Poor Peter,’ she said sadly.

  The Professor was still perplexed. ‘But the Arcanum cannot help Calum nor can she use it.’

  ‘Correct, but she didn’t know that and obviously didn’t believe Peter when he tried to tell her. She believed she needed a Theran, any Theran, to access its power and Frank Buckley was more than happy to oblige. He was a regular visitor to the EP HQ and Elizabeth, from what I can glean from these letters, was increasingly delusional and fragile. Anyone who offered what she wanted was able to manipulate and take advantage of her,’ said Paris.

  Paris turned to Lucius. ‘Did you see any sign of Peter?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. He may already be dead,’ he said chillingly.

  ‘Smee has no compassion for anyone, so I fear for his life, but he also likes to create drama. Smee loves himself and wants to lord it over Albertus so much that he may well be cooking something up and Peter may be a part of that… we can only hope he is still alive,’ said the Professor with more optimism.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked Lucius.

  ‘I would suggest I return to Tolemak. I need to brief Albertus and prepare for battle. You two stay here and keep an eye on their antics. Paris, Lucius, I think we need to tell the Trees,’ said the Professor.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ said Paris with concern.

  ‘We are failing to contain this; the Trees are our last line of defence.’ The Professor sighed.

  ‘Now can one of you take me home please?’ he said with a longing tone, the voice of a man that didn’t like the nature of the place he was in.

  *

  The Trees were created at the same time as the Earth Protectors; four individuals in high-profile positions in government and law enforcement to help with the smooth and secret functioning of the main EP operation. The name was chosen by Albertus, for, like trees, they are visible and in plain sight, but, like trees, no one takes any notice of them; quite clever really.

  The explanation offered by the Trees themselves, however, was that it was an acronym for a highly secret anti-terror organisation, which we always found amusing. For some reason they didn’t feel our comparison to trees was worthy for their role and they wanted something more dramatic and less self-effacing – another example of an Earthien trait of self-interest and of their competitive nature to be better than their fellow Earthiens.

  I’m sure much of this is driven by their chase for wealth through the accumulation of money. With that as your barometer for success in life, you begin to lose perspective on what is important, I think. Whilst I admire much in their culture, I always think everything is made so much harder by money; but I am just a humble Theran, what do I know of the ways of “big life”?

  The Trees, known by their pseudonyms of Mr Willow, Mr Beech, Ms Elm and Ms Maple, were our last line of defence in protecting our identities and the true nature of reality. It was testament to the severity of the threat posed by Smee and the Badaran that the Professor now felt the need to involve them.

  17th September 2012, Earth

  Albertus was, of course, right; Smee did not attack Tolemak. After the battle in the Eastern Desert he was busy. He had a hundred Badaran men and Simean to placate, after eighty-five had been lost in our battle. He had returned Simean and his men to Earth and Arthe and immediately set about building wealth. In the few short days he had now been on Earth he had conducted a series of outlandishly prominent robberies; with the Arcanum and the First Seal he was uncontrollable.

  Odling Smee was now in love, head over heels, topsy-turvy, butterflies in the stomach in love. He couldn’t believe it; he had never experienced such a powerful emotion. The constant attraction, an invisible force like magnetism, drawing him in; but as with everything in Smee’s life, this was no ordinary love. Love to him was not a concept of a bond between two people, a mutual sharing; a relationship where the sum of the whole is capable of more than the individuals. No, to Odling, love was something that made him feel good, him alone. It was a one-way road that now on Earth and Arthe he could travel with impunity.

  Odling had fallen in love with money. Money was his perfect partner; it did all his bidding without question and he was wedded to it now, for better or worse, in sickness and in health. Because he had the means, he had an unlimited source of it, and in his eyes, this guaranteed the marriage would last a lifetime. What Odling hadn’t bargained for, however, were the side effects of love; those spur of the moment gut reactions, irrational and illogical. Smee was lost in the intoxication of his own thoughts and whilst we were preparing for a celebration Smee was also celebrating.

  At a bar in Chelsea, London, Smee was sitting down for drinks with Simean.

  ‘Well, Simean, I told you I would make you rich. How are you feeling about those men you lost now? Not so bad I would imagine; more money for you.’

  ‘They were good men, Odling, but they knew the risks and as you say, more money for me.’ They both laughed.

  ‘You look quite dashing in that new suit, Odling.’

  ‘Savile Row, my dear boy,’ said Smee with
a mocking posh English accent.

  ‘I never thought I would see the day where you were drinking with me in a bar in London.’

  ‘Well, Simean, I have to say I do now understand why you Earthiens and Arthiens are so obsessed with money; it is rather good and I think I may stay here a little while enjoying myself.’

  ‘Well I’ll drink to that.’ The sound of chinking glasses was barely audible above their devilish laughter.

  ‘So, Odling, what about the Keepers, what about revenge?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that, Simean. You and I and your men are going to cause quite a few upsets in the balance. They will come to us soon enough. They will have found out by now that we’ve destroyed their little Earth playmates and will be wondering which one of them betrayed them. Was it Peter or was it the woman? Do you know, Simean, I was one of the best at the Keeper’s Challenge and now we are playing on a real board with real Keepers, it’s so much more fun.’

  ‘Well I’m glad you’re enjoying your little game, but remember you owe us a lot of money,’ warned Simean.

  ‘Oh, do stop going on about the money. I am now like one of your banks: I can print as much as I want.’

  ‘As much as we want,’ Simean corrected.

  ‘What about Peter and the woman?’

  ‘Little ‘pets’ are best kept caged; it makes for a better game, don’t you think?’

  ‘You know how to make things complicated, Odling,’ said Simean sighing.

  ‘Well let me worry about the complications; you keep your men under control,’ warned Smee.

  *

  Tom Cranford was scratching his head and muttering to himself as he trawled through a series of reports on his desk. On the wall behind him was a large white board with crime scene photographs, locations and times, all laid out neatly in a spider diagram, each interconnected with hand-drawn lines. The intensity and suddenness of the attacks over the last three days were deeply troubling to him and the incident of the previous day had now added a layer of complexity that even he could not rationalise; he pondered if all these incidents were related.

  Detective Jones was late. Jones paused momentarily before knocking on Cranford’s door, thinking about what he was going to say and he straightened and tightened his tie nervously.

  ‘Come in, Jones,’ shouted Cranford through the thin glass door. ‘You’re late.’

  ‘Sorry, sir, I—’

  ‘Stop! I don’t want to know about the half-baked excuse you thought up outside the door, we’ve got work to do,’ said Cranford, who was locked into another world described in the reports on the table. He patted the sheets of paper down, looked up and removed his reading glasses.

  Tom Cranford had been on the Force all of his working life. He was forty-five years old and single with no children. His commitment to the police had been absolute and not without its price. He was considered a ‘high flyer’ and was well respected by his superiors and his peers. He had a sharp brain, able to process facts quickly, making connections, drawing conclusions and solving crime in an almost superhuman way. By the officers who worked for him he was nicknamed ‘Super-Cop’, but that title was born out of respect, not ridicule. As Detective Jones fumbled in his jacket for his notebook he could feel Cranford monitoring him: how nervous he was, his breathing, it was a little fast, pulse and blood pressure up, hands clammy, forehead a little sweaty.

  Christ, he thought to himself. Pull yourself together.

  Cranford let him off the hook. ‘What have you got, Jones?’ he said in a friendly tone.

  Jones shuffled in his chair, composing himself. ‘Well, sir, Smith and Edwards were shot… close range with their own guns… clean shots, no chance of survival.’

  Jones paused after delivering his clinical assessment, shocked at the same time by the sound of his own words.

  ‘Carry on,’ commanded Cranford.

  ‘There was no other blood, so it looks like the attackers were very well trained, maybe ex-army. There are eyewitness accounts of three people leaving the scene, one of them female who we are currently assuming is Ms Shurman.’ He paused for comment.

  Cranford played with his pen, rhythmically tapping it to get his brain firing. He got up from his chair and went over to the white board and continued in silent thought, his back to Jones. He paced around for a few moments before turning back to him.

  ‘What did you get from the boy?’ he asked.

  ‘He doesn’t know anything, sir; either that or he’s a good liar. The psychs say he’s genuine, very worried about his mother obviously and confused. He thought she worked for a bank.’

  ‘Well I’ve been ploughing through her records and journals and she was either living in a fantasy world and quite mad or there’s much in this world, Jones, we don’t know,’ said Cranford, with worried tones entwined within his otherwise dismissive voice.

  ‘What do we do now, sir?’ said Jones.

  Cranford regained his composure. ‘What do you think, Jones? What do you think she was up to?’ said Cranford, looking for Jones to make a fool of himself rather than him.

  ‘Well, sir…’ Jones paused, a little nervous about giving up his theory.

  ‘Based on the evidence it appears to me as if Ms Shurman worked for a secret organisation called the Earth Protectors and then got herself caught up with this crime gang headed by…’

  He referred to his notes. ‘Frank Buckley. She clearly had meetings with him and was intent on selling him this artefact, the… the… ’Again he dipped into his notes. ‘The Arcanum from a place called Thera… if the journals are to be believed, of course…’

  He coughed and paused, embarrassed at his admission that the journals’ contents were facts, realising Cranford had set him up.

  Cranford put his head in his hands and all Jones could hear were muffled moans, before he looked at him angrily.

  ‘For god’s sake, Jones, do you expect me to take that up line? I’ll get taken away in a straitjacket.’

  Jones dropped his head. ‘So what next, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jones,’ said Cranford dejectedly.

  ‘Clearly she was into something seriously bad, bad enough to cost two officers their lives, but this can’t be true, surely.’ He tapped the journals with his hands.

  ‘Sir…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve always told me, follow the evidence, stick with the facts and when everything else has been ruled out, what is left, however implausible, must be the truth…’

  Cranford smiled. ‘Well it doesn’t get more implausible than this.’ He paused and took a deep breath.

  ‘Okay, let’s play fantasy crime for a few minutes, shall we?’ said Cranford and he walked over to the white board and started his analysis.

  ‘Elizabeth Shurman worked for an organisation called the Earth Protectors, feeding information to seven seal holders in an alternate world called Thera.’ He shook his head in disbelief at his own words but continued with the story for the next twenty minutes without further pause or embarrassment to an intently listening Detective Jones.

  ‘So, Jones, our Ms Shurman, somehow, came into possession of this Arcanum, a powerful artefact that this gang, headed by our suspect Frank Buckley, is using to rob banks and institutions with impunity and amassing a large fortune.’ Cranford stopped and paused before returning to his seat.

  ‘Who on Earth, Arthe or Thera is going to believe that?’ said Cranford sarcastically.

  ‘Well, sir, if you ever have children you’ll make a great storyteller,’ said Jones, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘Thank you, Jones, unfortunately the likelihood of that is as slim as the likelihood of this story being true, and my next audience tomorrow will not share your enthusiasm for my storytelling.’ Cranford sat back in his chair and sighed. ‘Okay, Jones, let’s see what tomorrow brings. Go over the house again, would you. Personally,’ he emphasised. ‘I don’t want any other officers in there.’

  ‘Yes, sir… anything else?’r />
  ‘Where is the boy?’

  ‘He’s with social services, he’s safe.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t be too sure about that. I’m sure his mother will be looking for him… keep two officers covering him and we’ll meet again tomorrow afternoon… if I’ve still got a job,’ said Cranford.

  *

  ‘We’ve found your boy,’ said Simean.

  ‘Oh, god, thank you, where is he?’ said Elizabeth, relieved and concerned in equal measure.

  ‘He’s being taken care of by social services. They’ve placed him with a temporary foster family about a mile from your apartment,’ said Simean.

  ‘Well what are we waiting for? Let’s go and get him—’ demanded Elizabeth.

  ‘Easy, lady,’ interrupted Smee. ‘You have created a lot of heat… that is the phrase you use, isn’t it, Simean?’

  Simean nodded, smiling at Smee’s attempt to be more Earthien.

  ‘However, you will be pleased to know that I have already instructed Simean to send two of his best men to recover your son. I am, despite what you may believe, an honourable man; when I agree something I stick to it.’

  Elizabeth calmed and cowered a little in Smee’s presence. ‘Thank you… I… never doubted you… it’s just… he’s my son, all that I have… all I’ll ever have,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Well you’ll be together shortly and can be on your way as soon as we’ve sorted out a few of these problems,’ said Smee.

  He turned and whispered to Simean, ‘At the right time we need to tidy up the loose ends… her and the boy, you understand?’

  Simean nodded and they left, leaving Elizabeth daydreaming about the return of Calum.

  18th September 2012, Earth

  It’s unclear on the detail on how Calum was taken from his carers whilst under police protection, but he was brought into the hideout in a frightened but eager state. His ‘rescuers’ — that’s how he viewed them— had obviously been very persuasive and the thought of seeing his mother again took over all sense of danger; love had led him back to her, regardless of the path.